GIFT  OF 


o 


POEMS 

OF 

PERSONALITY 

THIRD   SERIES 

REGINALD  C.  ROBBINS 


"  to  speak  beyond  the  book  " 


CAMBRIDGE 

>rinteti  at  Cfje  ft 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,   1917,   BY   REGINALD  CHAUNCEY   ROBBINS 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


[ 


trj 


CONTENTS 


HOMER 3 

JOB    .     .     .     .    > 8 

ISAIAH 14 

DEMOCRITUS 21 

VERGIL 31 

JOHN   THE    BAPTIST 35 

PHILO '.38 

MARCUS   AURELIUS 50 

PLOTINUS 58 

ORIGEN 75 

JULIAN 87 

PELAGIUS 9* 

CHARLEMAGNE 96 

ERIGENA       ...                                ...  100 

ABELARD 105 

BERNARD  OF   CLAIRVAUX 112 

iii 


492231 


CONTENTS 

FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 117 

FREDERICK    II,   HOHENSTAUFEN  .     .     .  123 

VILLON 129 

CHARLES   V 137 

BACH 144 

FICHTE 153 

SCHOPENHAUER       159 

LINCOLN 178 

WAGNER 182 

GLADSTONE 196 

BRAHMS 208 

NIETZSCHE 216 

ROYCE 224 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

THIRD  SERIES 


HOMER 

THE  mighty  morning  wakes!     Earth,  heaven  and 

ocean 

Leap  to  the  touch  of  sweet,  swift-footed  light 
Adown  yon  orient  atmosphere  dawn-dancing, 
Quick-shafted  from  the  Asian  mountain-ridge 
Distant  upon  the  lordly  continent! 
And  this  green  isle  with  cliffs  surf-circled  standeth, 
A  gem  amid  the  many-murmuring  waters, 
White-ring'd  with  the  wine-wonder  of  the  sea. 
And  ever  'twixt  mine  isle  and  that  far  shore 
The  shimmering  wind-rows  of  the  wave  advancing 
Come  gleaming  onward  at  a  wide  approach, 
Feeding  the  eye  of  the  mind  with  impulse  urgent 
(Out  of  the  new-born  day  and  fountain'd  Ida, 
Out  of  the  swift-oncoming  air  and  ocean 
Or  hither-streaming,  sweet,  quick-footed  light) 
To  sing  to-day  once  more,  as  many  a  day 
I  sang;  as  none  before  mine  hour  have  sung-it 
In  palace  or  in  herdsman's  hut,  in  ship 
On  ocean  beaten  or  the  rocky  place 
Of  some  high  altar  mountainward;  to  sing 
The  strife  of  men  and  gods  (sith  gods  impel 

3 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  alway  shall  impel  the  light  of  morning, 
The  sweep  of  the  air  and  ocean's  foamy  rage 
Storm-stricken),  to  sing  of  ancient,  mighty  men 
Like  ocean,  air  and  earth  high-powerful 
Yet  in  a  strife  the  gods  had  stirr'd  them  to 
Shattered  and  suffering,  wasted  through  the  years 
(Unless  in  suffering  be  best  herohood!) 
Like  as  a  day  were  wasted  when  no  song 
Issues  from  lips  upon  the  promontory 
Nor  paean  at  the  dawn-tide  poureth  on 
The  hurrying  impulse  wine-hued  of  the  wave! 
For,  many  a  year,  told  I  the  tale  of  Troia 
And  of  the  hero-wanderer  seeking  home 
Against  Poseidon,  Troia  being  destroy'd, 
In  Chios  singing  who  was  youthful  then 
And  hale,  but  now  (an  aged  man  white-hair'd) 
Feel,  by  the  morning-wind  in  northern  Lesbos, 
The  singing-hour  upon  me  once  again!  — 
Thou,  Zeus,  hast  felt  as  when  Homeros  singeth: 
When  from  thy  front  full-arm'd  Athene  sprang 
(Goddess  of  couraged  foresight  to  the  strife) 
Perchance  at  morning,  when  the  silver  shafts 
Of  Phoibos  through  thine  high  Olympian  hall 
Woke  thee  to  rapture  and  thou  borest  her! 
4 


HOMER 

O  Zeus,  in  imitation  of  thy  glory 
The  dawn  hath  call'd  me  to  create  for  men 
In  mine  old-age  as  in  mine  hours  of  youth 
A  music  of  the  elements,  a  splendor 
Of  song-burst  to  be  flung  o'er  world  awide 
In  voice  of  the  bard  chanting  the  woven  tale  — 
New  combats  and  new  triumphs  and  new  woes 
Which  men  may  sing  mix'd  with  the  former  chants 
Nor  guess  thereby  the  maker  were  grown  old! 
And,  though  the  fate  be  dire  as  is  the  strife 
Through  the  long  day  and  unto  Hades'  end, 
Yet  all  is  of  the  morning  in  my  mind 
(However  aged  be  the  race  of  men) 
Singing  the  hero-working  though  we  die! 
Doubtless  there  shall  be  songs  of  evening  heard; 
And  songs  of  noon-tide  when  the  heavier  blue 
Broods  o'er  an  ocean  swooning  in  the  sun 
Heedless  of  gods  or  men  or  hero-strife, 
Calm,  harmless  as  a  tether'd  sacrifice  — 
And  they  be  otherwise  than  Asia's  now 
Of  blaze  and  starting  forth  to  the  day's  fate. 
And  doubtless  may  bewilderment  ensue 
To  men  not  born  of  morning,  wondering  then 
How  that  Homeros  sang  as  then  they'd  sing  not; 
5 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

And,  finding  in  Homeros  not  their  own 
Noon-moveless  ocean  of  the  heedless  gleam 
Nor  terrors  troublous  of  an  evening  eye, 
Shall  blame  and  call  me  blind!    But  am  I  blind, 
O  Zeus,  who  stand  upon  my  promontory 
In  Lesbos  near  to  Troas  (where  I  came 
Yearning  from  Chios  for  the  winds  of  Ida) 
With  open'd  lips  and  couraged,  steadfast  gaze 
Ever  to  eastward  at  the  opening  day 
Taking  thine  instigation;  whilst  from  Ida 
That  looks  upon  the  Trojan  northward  plain, 
Skamandros'  flood  and  shores  where  heroes  fell 
Sweeps  ever  over  the  wine-faced,  rustling  sea 
Coming  and  coming  as  in  foam-row  borne 
The  wind  of  inspiration,  thine  Athene 
(Foresighted  to  the  tumult  of  the  strife, 
Sustaining  in  the  hero  each  resource) 
Who  gives  the  impulse  to  the  mounting  mind 
And  makes  in  me  the  morning  yet  of  men? 
Nay,  Zeus;  nor  are  they  blind  who  follow  after 
With  music  of  a  lyre  though  earth  be  old, 
Old;  and  the  race  of  men  white-hair'd  as  I ! 
Not  blind  are  they  who,  though  the  noon  be  duird 
With  hot  oppression  or  the  pallid  glare 
6 


HOMER 

Of  Hades-ominous  clouds  black-piled  along 
The  margin  of  a  westward  ocean  bode 
A  night  too  starless,  find  within  the  mind 
Still  thine  Athene,  still  a  morning-strength 
Than  mine  the  loftier  that  it  singeth  yet 
Though  days  and  years  of  element  are  pass'd 
And  Troia  be  forgotten  with  my  name; 
And  men  no  more  be  striving.   Yea,  O  Zeus, 
Though  all  were  heedless  of  thee,  or  all  despair'd 
Thine  orient  turning,  never  shouldst  thou  fail 
At  last  (the  appointed  dawn-tide  hour  at  hand) 
In  wind  of  inspiration,  thine  Athene, 
As  now  to  urge  upon  their  voicelessness 
A  song  from  out  the  spirit;  which,  suffering, 
Yet  striveth  herowise;  which  seeth  earth 
As  no  earth  were  without  thee  —  though  the  eye 
Be  sightless,  sightless:  even  as  mine  own! 


JOB 

NOT  by  the  Voice  shall  I  be  overcome, 
Not  by  the  overbearingness  of  God 
Subdued;  where  power,  domineering  still, 
Disdains  all  justice!  Shall  I  be  reduced 
(And  after  endurance  of  such  manifold, 
Unmerited  agonies!)  by  mere  rebuke 
In  bluster  of  the  tempest,  to  succumb 
In  spirit  as  in  body  —  and  be  dust, 
No  longer  questioning,  no  longer  Man? 
I  grant  the  ways  of  the  Lord,  inscrutable ! 
I  grant  the  injustice,  not  to  be  explained! 
Yet  will  not  acquiesce  and  turn  for  Him 
A  minister  of  monstrous  wantonness 
Unstirr'd  of  nobler  promptings.  God  or  Man, 
I  still  must  choose  between  them  and  elect 
(Ah!  even  the  dust  but  would  be  questioning!) 
The  juster,  though  mine  agony  abide 
Fourfold  the  vengeance  of  the  unjust  Judge, 
'Soever  mighty  to  devour  me  up 
With  wrath  and  whirlwind:  who  His  wrath  insult! 
Ah,  Lord!  not  thus  shalt  Thou  o'erpower  the  man 
By  taunt  and  boasting,  though  Behemoth  too 
8 


JOB 

(However  halfway  mighty  up  to  Thee!) 

Moan  and  Leviathan  beweep  Thy  strength! 

If  with  Behemoth  and  Leviathan 

I  suffer,  so  my  steadfast  sympathy 

For  sufferance  tormented  of  Thy  hand 

Doubly  defies  Thee  for  the  brotherhood! 

Lo !  dost  Thou  spur  the  Horse  to  rush  on  spears, 

Put  madness  in  his  nostrils  at  the  sound 

Of  trumpet  and  by  battle  him  destroy, 

Him  and  the  captains  trusting  in  his  might  — 

And  Thine  to  aid  the  righteous,  nor  betray? 

Lo!  the  Gazel  upon  the  sparsest  weed 

Thou  starvest,  that  beneath  the  fire  at  last 

Of  desert  drouth  her  fever  may  be  flame 

And  that  same  speed,  Thou  gavest  her  to  keep  her, 

Wither  and  waste  before  the  javelin? 

Behemoth  also  he  at  last  must  fall 

Alone,  beyond  the  help  of  any  arm 

Than  Thine  —  and  dost  Thou  save  him  with  Thy 

strength? 

Or  dost  Thou  watch  him  all-unpityingly 
Gasp  out  the  great  gasps,  or  Leviathan 
Drown  in  the  flood  that  Thou  hadst  made  for  him: 
Drown  and  be  carcass  rotted  on  the  strand 

9 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

To  heaven  high-stinking,  when  one  turn  or  touch 
Of  Thy  least  finger  had  sustained  him? 
Jehovah!  Thou  hast  against  Thee  many  a  charge 
Of  heaviest  obloquy:  Who  may'st,  but  will'st  not; 
Who  canst  all  things  for  good  yet  workest  ill! 
And  by  the  Voice  of  One  all-powerful 
But  all-unjust  shall  I  be  overcome? 

Ah,  God !  to  force  me  thus  into  defiance 

Most  miserable  to  the  meekness  of  me: 

The  worst  if  last  of  Thine  injustices, 

Because  preventing  me  from  reverence 

As  Thou  from  pity  long  hast  been  absolved; 

Goading  me  from  my  posture  of  a  patience 

Submissive  still  if  questioning!  That  now 

From  any  more  injustice  I  escape 

(And  with  me  Thy  creation,  Beast  and  Man!) 

By  rising  up  in  judgment:  I,  at  worst, 

A  judge  over  my  Maker,  face  to  face! 

I  tell  Thee,  Lord!  't  is  Thou  Who  must  be  judged, 
If  I  am  but  Thine  image,  face  to  face, 
So  capable  of  judgment  even  as  Thou! 
I  tell  Thee,  God!  that  I  will  be  Thy  judge  — 
10 


JOB 

Yet  justly,  very  justly,  lest  Thy  fault 

Repeat  in  me  Thy  creature.    For  Thy  fault 

Is  very  grievous  as  I  know  Thee  now 

Convicted  out  of  Thine  own  voice  and  boast 

Of  fashioning  a  world  in  wantonness. 

Thou  might'st  have  pleaded  of  some  power  above 

Thee 
Thwarting  Thy  will  for  well;  Thou  might'st  have 

shown  me 

Some  compensation  to  my  misery 
By  justice  otherwhere  through  my  great  wrong. 
Thou  pleadedst  not,  but  boastedst  of  these  things.  — 
I  grant  Thy  ways  were  erst  inscrutable 
Anent  injustice  plainly  to  be  known: 
The  injustice  proven,  not  to  be  explained. 
Nor  now  might  Thine  injustice  be  explain'd 
In  this  its  worst  compulsion  to  revolt  — 
Unless,  unless  high  humanhood  compell'd 
Of  Thy  misdeed,  Man's  scrupulosity 
In  fear  of  imaging  his  Maker's  fault, 
This  better-than-mere-justice  speaking  now 
Be  Thy  supreme  achievement,  pardoning  all 
The  dire  arraignment  drawn  of  Thine  own  lips? 
For,  God!  I  even  in  my  misery  here 

ii 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Grieve  for  Behemoth  and  Leviathan, 

For  Horse  and  Doe  (not  to  discourse  of  pains 

On  other  men  inflicted;  nor  of  Thee 

To  pity  Thine  injustice!);  I  in  pain 

Unspeakable  yet  speak  at  risk  of  life 

(A  life  how  gladly  rendered  up  to  Thee; 

Save  for  this  zeal,  first  to  defend  Thy  fame 

By  seeking  explanation  of  my  woe 

Against  false  explanation  of  the  Friends, 

And  now  to  acquit  Thee  in  Thine  own  despite!), 

Yet  argue,  at  the  risk  of  death,  with  Thee 

The  Omnipotent  in  Evil,  but  to  prove 

Thy  world,  if  half-unwittingly  to  Thee, 

A  work  of  splendor,  that  Thy  morning-stars 

Which  sang  together  sang  not  wantonly! 

How  were  it,  Lord!  that  Thou  couldst  make  such 

men 

As  judge  Thee  not  ungenerously,  though 
They  suffer  with  the  anguish  of  thine  earth? 
Perchance  Thou  feelest  too  the  fate  of  all; 
And  pitiest,  deserving  so  my  pity, 
Most  poignantly  because  Thou  madest  them 
To  bear  with  Thee  in  patience  more-than-just, 
To  judge  of  Thee  in  generosity; 

12 


JOB 

And  knowest  the  glory  of  Thy  handiwork: 

Thyself  almost  as  Man,  to  glory  in  it? 

What  were  my  vindication  beyond  death, 

Which  could  not  reach  Thee  as  the  Lord  of  Life, 

To  this  that  vindicateth  Thee  by  me?  — 

Speak  to  me,  Thou !  declare  Thou  unto  me, 

If  that  the  secret  of  the  universe 

Be  Thine;  and  mine  but  counsel  without  knowledge! 

Art  Thou  now  silent,  whilst  upon  my  tongue 

Trembles  the  explanation  of  Thy  ways 

Their  problem  and  perplexity  to  man : 

The  way  of  pity,  that  Thou  madest  us, 

And  feelest  with  the  creatures  Thou  hast  made 

The  pangs  of  Thine  injustice  and  the  glory 

Of  human  generosity  to  Thee 

(Proving  of  Thee  Thy  wise  creatorship, 

The  saving  immolation  of  Thy  pride!) 

Beyond  all  meekness,  as  I  judge  Thee  now? 

Lord!  for  Thy  silence,  I  submit  to  Thee! 


ISAIAH 

IN  God's  sight  and  in  man's  the  chastisement 

Of  Ephraim  beneath  the  conqueror's  yoke 

Is  just;  fulfilment  of  a  prophesying 

Long  spoken,  openly  the  hand  of  God: 

That  Ephraim  sweats  and  groans  with  ox  and  ass, 

Doing  hard  labor  in  an  alien  land 

As  erst  in  Egypt.   Yea,  the  doom  is  just. 

For  Ephraim,  was  she  not  idolatrous, 

Allied  with  Syria  and  Damascus'  gods 

(Whether  the  idols  be  Jehovah  call'd 

Or  Baal  what  heed,  when  God  is  not  of  stone?) 

A  nation  of  backsliders;  save  a  few 

Who,  fiery-tongued  and  of  the  lips  of  God 

Inspired,  spake  for  Him  over  overtly 

(Hosea,  Amos  and  the  mightier  twain) 

Denouncing  idols,  Asshur  equally 

With  Baal  though  Jehovah's  instrument 

Be  Asshur  to  Samaria's  overthrow? 

And,  where  the  warning  of  the  prophet-tongues 

Against  reliance  on  the  heathen  strength 

Of  Baal,  Syria  and  Damascus'  cult 

Was  no  more  heeded  than  the  twitter  of  birds; 


ISAIAH 

And  idol-priests  within,  without  the  land, 

In  Ephraim  as  in  Syria,  mock'd  the  more; 

There  shall  not  vast  Assyrian  hosts  destroy 

And  rape  into  an  exile  righteously 

The  people,  so  to  purge  by  fire  and  spear 

The  unclean  high-places?  And,  though  here  and 

yon 

Be  one  or  two  fair  sheaves  amid  the  tares 
Enmesh'd  in  field-wide  ruin,  shall  not  God 
By  riddance  root  and  branch  prepare  the  ground 
Best  for  repentance  and  the  remnant-growth 
If  any  shall  remain  in  His  good  time? 

Ah,  Judah!  Judah!  have  I  not  said  Woe! 
Woe!  unto  Ephraim  with  terrible  speech 
Of  chastisement  impending  —  and  when  now 
Their  punishment  approveth  prophecy 
And  mine  appointment  from  Jehovah  stands 
Before  the  tribes  made  plain,  shall  I,  in  this  ( 
Mine  hour  of  vindication  from  the  taunts 
(From  Ephraim  or  from  Judah  snarling  out 
In  fierce  refusal  to  allow  the  truth 
For  fear  of  doom  or  horror  at  the  fate), 
In  mine  exoneration  from  the  taunts 
15 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  prosperous  unrighteousness,  deplore 

The  glory  of  the  justice  of  our  God? 

Their  doom  is  just;  and  God  is  on  my  side 

Against  the  scoffers  —  and  shall  I  denounce 

Mine  inspiration  and  repent  of  God? 

Ah,  God !  could  not  Thy  power  have  forced  Thy 

folk, 

Those  children  of  the  covenant,  to  care 
For  Thee  and  for  Thy  warning  nor  compel 
The  realization  of  such  prophecies? 
Ah,  God!  could  not  Thy  servant,  even  I, 
Have  suffer'd,  as  a  scapegoat  unto  Thee, 
For  every  sin  of  Ephraim;  that  they 
Thy  flock,  my  brethren  still  for  all  their  fault, 
Had  turn'd  unto  repentance  —  and  bewray'd 
My  speech,  mine  insight  and  my  service  for  Thee 
By  sheer  anticipation,  spoiling  all 
Of  warning  by  the  punishment  forestall'd? 
God,  I  would  vouch  to  Thee,  even  I,  Thy  clay, 
Would  vouch  to  Thee  for  Ephraim,  wouldst  Thou 
But  cancel  inspiration,  leave  me  proved 
Blasphemer  —  if  but  yon  Assyrian  host 
Were  from  the  waste-lands  of  Samaria 
And  from  their  fastnesses  to  north  and  east 
16 


ISAIAH 

Cast  out;  and  Ephraim  in  prosperity 
Returned  and  once  more  vineyarded  of  home! 
Behold!  if  but  some  fear  Thou  hadst  vouchsafed 
Unto  their  souls  (not  anger  at  my  words!) 
That,  Syrian  Damascus  left  alone 
To  overthrow  by  those  Assyrian  hosts, 
Scorning  a  dalliance  with  the  heathen  gods 
Their  feet  had  turn'd  unto  Thy  righteousness 
And  so  been  saved  by  my  false  prophesying! 

Ah !  then  had  I  been  more  Thy  prophet,  more 
(Though  in  disgrace)  the  worker  in  Thy  field; 
Then,  then,  by  the  spectacle  of  downfall  yielden 
(It  dawns  upon  me  I  should  serve  Thee  so 
More  than  by  confirmation  of  Thy  pledge!) 
For  every  high  intent  within  my  spirit, 
An  evidence  of  God-nobility 
Beyond  mere  mulct  and  wage,  example  to  them 
(Dread  Lord!  example  haply  too  to  Thee!) 
Of  best  desert  precluded  from  reward, 
Of  loftiest  merit  openly  denied 
And  Thy  world-power  frustrate  seemingly  — 
Nay,  frustrate,  O  Jehovah,  veritably  — 
Unless  a  loftier  than  justice  rule 
17 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Thy  world  and  generosity  have  shape 
Within  Thy  heart  and  will,  as  in  mine  own 
The  generosity  of  huge  regret 
Hath  birth  beside  my  triumph.  Ah,  for  Judah, 
Where  yet  the  Assyrian  conqueror  abstains, 
Be  generous,  God!  oh,  wreak  on  me  Thy  wrath 
If  by  mine  uttermost  discrediting 
Thy  meting-out  of  judgment  be  forsworn 
To  nobler  purposes,  to  leading-on 
Not  by  the  chastisement  but,  as  in  me 
By  opening  of  the  bowels  of  compassion, 
The  travails  of  a  sympathy  with  Thee 
In  Thy  new  part  of  Healer,  saviorhood 
Which  needeth  not  the  surfeit-hemorrhage 
To  force  the  fruit  of  pity  purgative! 
O  great  Jehovah!  wreck  but  my  career, 
Destroy  this  prophet-reputation  with 
The  basis  of  the  justice-prophesying 
(For  generosity  can  none  foretell!); 
Purge  and  prevent  Thy  people  ere  the  fact 
Of  God-establishment  by  ruin  of  them! 
For  am  not  I,  Thy  servant,  one  alone, 
A  prophet  crying  in  the  wilderness; 
And  are  not  they,  Thy  people,  many  thousands; 
18 


ISAIAH 

And  wert  not  Thou,  O  Lord,  the  greater  God 
For  dwelling  in  the  heart  and  soul  and  strength 
Of  thousands  glad  at  home  (a  fellowship 
Of  prophets  as  the  heart  shall  speak  for  Thee 
In  confidence  beyond  the  need  of  foresight!), 
Of  thousands  Thine  for  love;  not  in  the  fear  — 
The  hate  —  of  a  poor  people  laboring 
(Some  remnant  of  them)  in  a  stranger-land 
With  ox  and  ass  beneath  the  burden  of 
A  conqueror  who  knoweth  not  Thy  name? 
And  I,  Thy  servant,  if  Thou  anywise 
Troublest  at  my  discredit  and  disgrace, 
Comfort  Thyself  that  I  shall  ever  praise  Thee, 
Praising  Thee  but  the  more  should  justice  fail 
And  generosity  in  Thee  awake 
To  my  destruction.   As  Samaria  now 
In  this  her  ruin'd  silence  privily 
Should  I  endure  it,  nor  disturb  Thy  peace 
With  any  lamentation.   For  the  truth 
That  I  the  last,  and  no  man  after  me, 
Should  perish  of  Thy  justice,  such  a  truth 
(Thou  wouldst  allow  the  foresight  finally!) 
Though  I  be  sawn  asunder  in  Thy  courts 
(And,  shouldst  but  Thou  present  the  paradigm, 
19 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Then  in  Thine  image  might  men  pardon  me) 
The  sense  of  such  a  truth  as  man's  salvation 
And  spirit-softening  at  Thy  forgiveness 
Would  lift  my  spirit  to  the  mountain-tops 
Vocal  above  the  valleys  with  Thy  feet! 


20 


DEMOCRITUS 

LIKE  as  the  myriad  atoms  of  the  sands 
So  small,  so  tough  that  nought  may  cut  nor  crush 
Nor  anywise  effect  diminishment 
In  any  of  them  —  like  the  desert  sands 
Here  of  Aigyptos  'neath  my  wandering  feet 
(These  grains  in  curious  shapes  indeed  diverse) 
Lieth  the  first  material  of  the  world, 
The  substance  of  the  prime  necessity, 
As  though  in  this  hot  sunshine  wide  and  whole 
Declared,  to  reasonings  illuminate. 
Of  myriad  truths  composed  the  substance  holdeth; 
Things  real;  alone  in  primal  shape  unlike; 
And  in  such  sorts  unlike  —  as  primal  shape, 
Affording  to  sense  and  so  to  human  act 
Derivative  reality  indeed, 
Doubtless  may  gender  of  the  impact  of  them 
(Which  sensuous  characters  Protagoras, 
Though  scarce  Leukippos,  hath  provided  for!)  — 
As  can,  for  seeming  to  a  human  sense, 
By  doubtful  parlance  of  the  modern  mood 
Be  added  of  the  mind.   Though  ultimately 
(Leukippos,  scarce  Protagoras,  in  this!) 
21 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Are  the  atoms,  so  I  deem  them,  as  they  are 

(The  shaping  first  assumed)  so  wholly  like 

In  kind  each  unto  each  that  utmost  search 

(Like  mine  upon  the  face  of  the  desert  here) 

Might  nowise  set  apart  as  other-sorted 

One  grain  of  the  world  from  other  —  ay,  save  in  size, 

Itself  from  absolute  form  derivative: 

As  desert  sands,  though  each  as  each  too  small 

For  diminution,  yet  are  size-unlike, 

Some  smaller  and  some  larger  in  themselves. 

That  thus  in  size  and  weight  (derivative 

From  primal  form,  I  know)  may  difference  be 

Real,  toward  our  purposes  of  thought 

To  be  relied  upon  as  given  to  it 

(Though  reasonable;  yet  alogical, 

Not  sensuous-added  of  the  mind!),  among 

Things  utterly  substantial  each  from  each. 

Nor  need  we  any  other  truths  assumed 
Than  these  of  atomism,  the  tough,  the  small, 
The  several  indeed  of  shape  and  size 
But  otherwise  an  homogeneousness. 
For  all  beside  is  sensuously  derived, 
Logic-related,  added  of  the  mind 

22 


DEMOCRITUS 

As  't  were,  and  therefore  not  approvable; 

Ay,  therefore  not  thus  for  first  philosophy! 

Ah,  here  as  I  stand  upon  the  desert  plains 

I  thus  define  their  full  reality, 

Sands,  sands  and  sands,  beneath  diminishment 

Or  multiplication;  myriads,  each  too  small 

And  all  too  many  for  intrinsic  change; 

And  therefore,  though  no  All  of  Elea, 

Yet  nothing  like  the  Dream  of  Ephesos! 

The  shimmering  of  the  sun-fire  well  may  seem 

Sand-alteration;  or  the  desert  air 

May  hang  in  the  margin  of  the  open  heavens 

Tall  palms  and  glimmering  pools  of  phantasy. 

But  these  no  more  than  falsehoods  of  the  tongue 

Are  for  the  physic-search  of  human  wisdom 

A  reasonable  substance.  At  my  feet 

Lie  sands  and  sands,  a  multiplicity 

(Declared  to  reasoning  of  the  high  sunshine) 

Unwavering  save  to  figment  of  the  sense, 

And  yet,  unlike  the  All  of  Elea, 

Substantial,  not  in  virtue  overall 

Of  vague  enlargement  unto  boundlessness, 

But  rather  because  thus  utterly  minute 

In  every  element-identity; 

23 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Sands,  sands,  in  truth;  a  waste  as  but  by  naming 

(Beware  the  stagnant  void  of  Elea!), 

No  stagnant  void,  but  capable,  each  grain, 

If  scarce  of  an  ultimate  alterance  to  sense 

Yet,  in  a  truth  ulterior  to  sense, 

Of  motion;  ay,  not,  as  sang  Parmenides, 

A  very  palm-hung  pool  of  phantasy, 

A  glimmering  merely,  but,  itself  instinct 

With  potence  and  the  making  of  the  worlds; 

A  source-of-all-sensation  veritable, 

A  matrix  to  the  modelling  of  mind, 

Not  unrelated  to  the  acts  of  men. 

Yet  one  thing  more!  Behold  the  acts  of  men 
(Which  for  Parmenides  were  mystery; 
Yea,  for  Leukippos,  dubiously  described 
Without  or  source  or  service  veritable) 
Themselves,  as  shown  us  of  Protagoras 
If  not  of  Herakleitos,  motionwise  — 
And  thus  derivatively  of  the  Real  — 
Resembling  any  act  mechanical 
Whether  of  sand  or  atom !  I  may  walk 
Foot-firm  upon  these  granules.    I  may  stoop 
And  lift,  in  the  hand,  of  them  a  multitude 
24 


DEMOCRITUS 

Sifting  the  desert-substance  myriadwise, 
To  winnow  them  high-held  above  mine  head 
Like  seed  from  chaff.  And  like  to  chaff  or  seed 
Sandward  upon  the  plain  the  sands  pour  down 
In  never-ceasing  impulse,  every  speck 
Seeking  intent  its  fellows.    Yet  isolate 
Each  falleth,  some  the  swiftlier  for  their  size; 
Some  softlier,  widely  streaming  on  the  breeze 
Dust-fashion:  yet  fitless  either,  whilst  between  them 
The  interstice,  the  vacuum  obtains 
Without  which  motion  were  not.   For  were  world 
Pack'd  tight  and  full-composed  and  fitted  well, 
How  were  a  cosmos  but  a  merest  grain, 
Incapable  of  compressions,  yielding  not 
To  severations,  and  internally 
Like  to  the  desert-floor  too  still-compact, 
Inertive!  Whence,  betwixt  the  grains  of  the  world 
Be  equal-myriad  holes  permitting  motion 
Though  real!  And  my  motion  or  their  own 
Alike  is  thuswise  valent,  as  I  deem, 
By  dint  of  the  vacuum,  such  aperture 
Betwixt  the  atoms  of  the  primal  mode 
Permitting  the  translation.    Might  my  feet 
Pursue  and  press-upon  the  firm-pack'd  path 

25 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Further  and  further  from  the  valley-green 
(Where  sense-affection  so  confuseth  truth!) 
Of  Neilos  and  along  the  drifted  edge 
Of  these  sand-billows  (bare  of  feeling-claim, 
So  reason-fostering!),  save  there  gave  to  the  swing 
Of  the  foot  an  opening  in  the  tenuous  air 
For  entrance  and  for  passage  of  my  frame 
Parting  the  ghostlier  presence?   Might  my  hand 
Find  finger-space  below  the  surface-dust 
And  deep  within  these  granules,  were  not  cranny 
And  crevice  ever  betwixt  grain  and  grain 
Lurking  to  lend  fluidity?   Betwixt 
The  myriad  prime-substantial  particles 
Thus  must  there  lurk  of  prime  necessity, 
Not  merely  as  a  fiction  of  the  mind 
(For  ever  must  we  deny  Parmenides!) 
An  emptiness,  a  failure  each  to  fit 
Its  neighbor  grain;  an  absolute  negative 
Which  equally  with  atom  (though  denial  — 
And  'atom'  haply  too  were  negative 
Whilst  positive  of  cosmic  import  aye?) 
Were  prime  and  uttermost  necessity, 
A  matrix  unto  substance,  even  as  substance 
Were  matrix  to  sensation-imagery; 
26 


DEMOCRITUS 

That  so  through  vacuum,  the  inter-void 
(Even  as  by  substance  is  sensation  founded) 
The  opportunity  to  worlds  is  given 
For  inner  motion  and  new  attitude, 
For  very  difference  of  shape  and  size.  — 
O  desert,  art  thou  not  as  vacuum 
A  sand-denial,  yet  an  unity 
Holding  in  severance  and  thus  in  truth 
The  sands  of  ultimate  substance?   For  the  truth 
Of  vacuum  takes  hold  upon  the  mind 
To  admiration.  And  Parmenides 
(If  in  a  meaning  someway  not  the  same?) 
His  universal  emptiness  hath  warrant. 
And  I  am  of  the  desert  stultified 
Who  gloried  in  the  sand-grain !  Shall  my  mind 
Be  modell'd  as  to  an  emptiness,  an  One 
Elean,  despised  and  yet  proved  matrix  to  it? 
Or  may  there  be,  as  Anaxagoras 
(Or  new-come  Sokrates)  in  sort  hath  said, 
A  way  of  constitution  in  our  thought 
Scarce  yielding  as  to  a  name,  a  phantasy, 
Though  yet  ignoring  not  the  paradox 
That  presseth  on  the  reason?  There  be  sands, 
Atoms  substantial,  all-innumerable 
27 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  all-alike;  and  there  be  likewise  this 
The  desert  call'd,  the  absolute  nothingness, 
The  vacuum  but  in  which,  by  which,  alone 
In  virtue  of  whose  barren  breadth,  the  sands 
Are  several,  ultimate,  atomic  proven ! 

I  question  if  a  paradox  so  posed 

Be  explicable,  as  with  Sokrates 

(Nor  by  Protagoras  the  elder-born, 

For  whom  no  truth  were  weightier  than  a  name!), 

By  inference  merely  to  a  property 

Call'd  desertness,  a  severalty-in-space, 

Held  as  in  common  of  the  atom-facts. 

For  how  might  wearying  distance  so  obtain 

Whereto,  wherethrough,  wherefrom  my  wandering 

feet 

May  journey,  were  the  multiplicity 
Itself  extended  as  by  property 
Of  every  point  the  same  and  nought  between 
For  journey?   How  might  alterance  inly  be 
Where  nought  obtains  of  ultimate  otherness 
Save  what  our  thought  may  from  all  truths  alike 
Express,  extract  as  oil  but  from  the  fruit 
Of  palm  or  olive?  Though  indeed,  perchance, 
28 


DEMOCRITUS 

Might  substance  (even  as  wholly  positive) 
In  every  part  self-differently  intend 
An  inference,  whether  of  the  interstice 
Or  neighbor-distant  granule,  through-and-through : 
Even  as  our  mind,  with  truth  shot   through-and- 
through 

(Whatever  her  falsity  of  imagery 
Sensuous-sprung  of  overt  eye  and  ear!), 
Containeth,  ay,  or  seems  so  to  contain 
Both  desert  and  the  myriad-motived  sands 
Whilst,  whatsoe'er  her  physic-base  of  being, 
Not  to  herself  atomic  nor  a  name? 
I  know  not,  what  of  Anaxagoras 
Might  hold  within  a  land  of  sensuous  fruits 
(A  cosmos-scheme  of  relativities!) 
Bewildering  thus  the  reason,  to  confuse 
In  complications  of  interpretance 
To  purposes  anthropomorphic-felt 
Truths  true-distinct!  But  here  there  are  no  fruits 
(Nought  save  sands'  multiple  presence  unto  touch 
In  primal  demonstration  —  nay,  no  fruits), 
No  facts  of  sensuous,  secondary  sights 
Or  sounds  of  the  mind  —  as  yonder  sky-hung  waters, 
In  phantasy  mayhap,  may  be  referred 

29 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(So  fain  I  'd  understand  Parmenides) 
To  impacts  of  the  atoms  whilst  none  less 
Of  mind  contributed!   But  mine  the  problem 
Of  reason  face  to  face  with  ultimate  truths, 
The  vacuous  extension,  different-held 
In  every  interstice,  nowise  atomic 
And  yet  essential  to  the  atoms  each 
Their  ultimate  severally !  Mine  the  problem 
Of  sands  here  in  their  myriads  where  I  stoop 
And  lift  and  sift  them  all  with  weight  imbued, 
Fragments  and  fragments,  several  over  the  face 
(As  wandering,  ghostlier  airs  by  chance  define) 
Of  the  drifted  desert  which  my  feet  press  hard 
In  passing  over;  passing  only  sands 
And  sands  still  of  the  desert-formative.  — 
One  comes  to  wisdom  in  Aigyptos  here 
Where  showeth  the  primal  aspect  of  all  things, 
World's  very  paradox-necessity; 
Baffling  the  reason:  which  remains  yet  wide 
And  whole  as  sunshine,  open,  unconfused 
Because  distinctively  both  elements 
In  reasonable  zeal  illuminate 
Confronting  unmistaken:  neither  truth 
Mistaken  for  a  meaning  of  the  mind! 
30 


VERGIL 

0  MUSE,  from  Rome's  magnificence  I  haste  me 
And  splendors  of  imperial  temples,  toward 
Thine  open  countryside  and  rustic  altar, 

To  serve  thee  as  I  may  and  them  the  gods 
Who  dwell  not  under  the  porch  in  city  walls. 
For  Jove  is  of  the  open  heavens  and  spreads 
His  mantle  and  the  carpet  of  his  throne 
Not  only  over  the  fora  but  about 
The  tender  and  gracious  circlet  of  a  sky 
That  cometh  down  along  the  mountain-side 
Purplish  at  noon-day  or  upon  the  plain 
Shimmers  a  green  of  Maius.    Hereunto 

1  hasten,  with  the  sweet  smells  of  the  glebe, 
Of  furrow  and  of  the  springing  sward  o'er  all 
Wafted  and  with  the  tinkle  of  hundred  bells 
From  hill-path  and  from  pasture  thrilling  air. 
For  restoration  of  Italian  peace 

Hath  brought  the  shepherd  back  and  him  who 

tills. 

And  hither  I  flee,  as  thousands  of  the  sons 
Of  men  for  countless  future  generations 
Who  seek  thee,  Muse,  or  hear  thy  bell  and  breath 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Within,  shall  flee  the  fashion  and  the  fume 

(Thanks,  also,  unto  thee,  Theocritus!) 

Of  Jove's  Octavian  panoply,  pursuing 

The  Jove  of  oak-land  and  the  oak-loved  nymph 

With  inspiration  of  thine  utterance. 

For  I  am  rustic-born  and  yeoman-bred: 

Vergilius,  I,  herald  of  field-born  things. 

The  rustic  truths  I  sing  of  hind  and  home 
More  glorious  in  the  splendor  of  sun  and  moon 
Or  stars  than  is  the  glistening  pageantry 
Of  torch  on  torch  in  painted  portico 
And  gleam  of  eagles  in  an  armied  Rome 
When  some  triumvir  triumphs  in  his  hour. 
'T  is  not  alone  the  armies  of  the  sky 
In  rank  on  rank  of  onrush  (though  indeed 
Must  man  Lucretianwise  with  flood  and  storm 
Contend,  I  ween)  nor  only  through  the  valleys 
The  noisier  winds  our  trumpets  far  outblowing 
Which  move  me,  nor  the  keen  blazonry  of  beams 
Golden  and  silver  of  an  Hesperus 
Or  wild  Aurora;  but  the  fervent  sense 
(Through  all  the  generous  strife  and  noblest  toil) 
Of  friending  gods,  of  spirits  of  strength  and  health 
32 


VERGIL 

Everywhere  round  about  where  men  and  earth 
Conspire  together  to  bring  forth  a  fruit. 

O  Muse,  't  was  surely  to  the  love  of  Maius 

And  fervent  friendship  for  the  country  gods, 

Scarce  for  a  kinglier  city,  that  they  came 

/Eneas  and  his  comrades  voyaging; 

If  fatefully  for  Rome's  establishment 

By  hero-fighting  on  the  chosen  soil, 

Yet  longing  unto  loveliest  Italy, 

Her  streams  and  succoring  favor  of  her  shores. 

For  was  it  not  from  ruin  of  citied  splendor 

And  conflict  of  the  Trojan  citadel 

Betray'd,  that  they  far  over  the  guiding  ocean 

Fled  and  companion'd  of  the  open  heaven 

If  weary  yet  with  dignity  endured 

In  their  swift  ships  and  finally  to  Tibris 

Came  and  the  Latian  yeoman-home  discern'd? 

If  by  the  fiat  of  the  gods  or  fate 

Were  cities  founded  and  the  kingly  Rome 

Begun,  ah,  only  with  a  cultured  glebe 

Surrounded  and  the  high  labors  of  the  seeding, 

he  ripening  and  the  harvest,  to  their  hand. 
For  without  sickle  and  ploughshare  may  not  men 
33 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Abide  on  earth;  nor  aught  imperial 
Arise  save  swathed  in  sweet  conspiracy ' 
With  Ceres  and  Tellurian  increase-gods.  — 
O  Muse,  from  Rome's  magnificence  I  haste  me, 
Hailing  the  splendors  of  imperial  years, 
The  templed  glories  of  Octavian  power 
Here  hidden,  but  to  the  eyes  of  one  inspired 
Proclaimed,  beneath  the  heaven's  best  height  and 

breadth, 

In  earth's  fecundity  of  oak  and  olive, 
Of  barley  and  the  blithe  flock-pasturing; 
The  vine;  and  all  that  sprouteth  under  the  toil 
Of  country-stalwart  folk,  the  yeoman-breed 
Saturnian,  from  the  Mother!  O  Muse,  I  tell 
Of  empire's  best  foundation,  as  I  yield  me, 
Fervent  for  sweet  release  from  urban  turmoil, 
To  scent  and  shimmer  of  this  primeval  spring! 


34 


JOHN  THE  BAPTIST 

Lo!  (for  the  spirit  whispers)  cometh  one 

Out  from  these  many  folk  who  throng  the  shore, 

Even  to  be  baptized  of  me  but  now; 

Cometh  a  savior  whose  whole  insight  is 

Of  righteousness  and  glory  through  mankind. 

Yet,  though  my  ministry  may  mean  but  him, 

Ay,  though  the  baptism  urgeth  righteousness 

By  sign  of  the  cleansed  spirit;  how  might  I 

Absolve  him  who  hath  nothing  felt  of  sin; 

I,  shamed  and  sinful,  cleanse  whose  heart  is  pure? 

For  I  am  full  of  sin  and  shame,  the  shame 
Even  of  these  sinners  whom  I  bid  repent. 
For  I  am  wild  and  of  the  wilderness 
A  dweller,  lest  the  sinfulness  of  men 
Have  wholly  hold  of  me;  yet  shame  hath  hold 
Of  every  part  of  me  and  is  my  soul: 
Because  I  may  not  see  a  righteousness 
About  me,  nor  a  glory  through  mankind. 
Sooth,  I  have  said:  'The  kingdom  of  our  God 
Is  near  at  hand.   Prepare  your  deeds  before 
Just  recompense  impending!'  And  have  so 
35 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Fail'd  to  attain  self-conquest;  am  as  one 

Aware  of  evil.  And  this  sin  and  shame 

Of  all  men,  even  them  I  bid  repent, 

Is  mine;  and  nought  of  knowledge  of  the  good 

Nor  any  justice  and  fulfilment  now. 

Now  is  there  one  who  cometh  wholly  pure. 
He  steps  from  out  the  throng,  he  in  his  turn. 
And  in  his  coming  is  mine  only  hope. 
For  in  the  blessed  contact,  in  the  touch 
And  sight  and  sound  of  him,  I  hope  to  see 
Some  righteousness,  a  glory  through  mankind, 
A  justice  and  full  recompense  on  earth 
Now  and  forever  in  the  thought  and  deed 
So  wholly  freed  from  evil,  in  his  soul 
So  pure  and  unashamed  and  utterly 
Unlike  these  sinners  whom  I  bid  repent, 
Unlike  their  sin  and  shame  that  is  mine  own. 
Even  by  the  sight  of  him  mine  heavens  shall 
Be  open'd  and  the  dove  of  God,  descending, 
Humanize  wilderness,  ay,  civilize 
The  wild  and  savage  soul  of  me  who  spurn 
All  known  of  me,  and  so  must  spurn  myself 
To  degradation. 

36 


JOHN   THE   BAPTIST 

Lo!  he  comes  and  speaks  — 
His  will  be  words  acclaiming  power  in  me 
And  righteousness  and  purity?   For  how 
Might  one  thus  pure  imagine  such  a  thing 
As  this  my  soul  of  sorrows?  Ah,  how  come 
To  be  baptized  of  one  deem'd  sinful?  —  Nay, 
He  speaks: 

"Yea,  John;  for  I,  who  wholly  find 
Mankind  a  glory,  yet  have  need  to  be 
Baptized  even  of  thee  to  take  men's  sins 
Upon  me  and  be  utterly  their  shame." 


37 


PHILO 

THE  question  of  the  embassy  to  Caesar; 
Might  I  assure  me  to  take  up  the  task?  — 

Not  in  the  desert  haply  nor  the  caves 

Of  rock-bound  wilderness  may  Israel  now 

Serve  God  in  strength  and  holiness  but,  'mid 

The  haunts  of  divers  men  of  many  creeds, 

Walking  the  ways  as  of  idolaters; 

Though  inly  praising  God  with  psalm  and  prayer 

For  insight  of  a  revelation  pour'd 

Interpretative  of  philosophy 

By  pictured  presentation  of  a  truth 

Which,  or  in  Kroton  or  Athenai  taught 

For  rumor  of  a  written  Pentateuch, 

Yet,  by  their  wisest  of  philosophers 

Hellenic-lofty,  were  but  dimly  guess'd: 

Who  miss  the  privilege  of  Moses'  tribes, 

The  spirit-mightiness  of  Moses'  God. 

Oh,  surely  I  dream  not  that  in  literal  proof 

Of  triumph  politic  the  Jews  at  last 

Alone  shall  wield  from  an  imperial  throne 

A  power  like  to  Caesar's  and  be  chosen 

38 


PHILO 

Successor  to  the  dominance  of  Rome! 
Oh,  rather  should  power  of  Scripture,  working  through 
An  earnest  exposition  logically 
As,  ages  since,  even  Pythagoras 
Or  Platon  or  these  Stoics  latterly 
Have  still  expounded  in  half-ignorance 
Scripture  and  only  Scripture  to  the  Greeks 
(With  nobleness  of  thought  and  loftiest  aim !)  — 
Rather,  I  say,  should  exegesis,  patient, 
Transfuse  the  pagan  thought,  whilst  pagan  thought 
Illumine  mutually  to  modern  ends 
Of  ethic  practice  in  the  Roman  State 
The  picture-proof  of  Moses  —  if  but  he 
The  perfect  soothsayer,  Moses  everywhile, 
Be  taken  (howsoever  inwardly 
By  parable)  for  type  of  perfect  truth. 
Yea,  though  the  truth  of  Scripture  changeth  not, 
Men's  ways  whereunto  Scripture  speaketh  truth, 
Men's  ways  wherein  Reason  hath  practice-truth, 
Are  otherwise  than  in  Mosaic  hours. 
And  Moses,  were  he  here  amongst  us  still 
In  Egypt,  might  not  at  command  of  God 
Lead  from  this  Alexandria  Israel  forth 
To  seek  God  in  the  wastes  of  Sinai  now: 

39 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

When  every  corner  of  the  whole  wide  world 
Were  sway'd  by  Caesar;  and  the  Stoic  cult 
With  truths  of  Platon  or  Pythagoras 
Hath  half-unwittingly  inform'd  men's  minds 
With  Moses;  and  our  ways  are  interfused 
Hellene  with  Hebrew  to  the  gain  of  both  — 
To  gain  of  both  in  spirit,  though  the  flesh 
Suffer  Rome's  persecutions  politic! 
Ay,  though  in  ancient  days  Jehovah  dwelt 
(And  Rome,  alas!  would  ape  Jehovah  now!) 
Doubtless  in  Sinai,  gave  commandment  there 
And  guided  with  the  pillar  of  smoke  by  day, 
Of  flame  by  night,  His  people  through  the  lands 
Of  dearth  and  stones  where  never  waters  are 
Unless  by  miracle,  and  miraculous 
Doubtless  did  Moses  lead  the  people  forth 
From  under  Pharaoh  (hath  not  Moses  said  it?), 
To-day,  this  hour,  such  Moses  might  not  rise 
To  lead  from  under  Roman  Pharaoh  forth 
Whose  power  hath  hold  of  all  the  ends  of  earth 
Extensive  as  with  God's  and  absolute. 
(But,  ah!  may  our  folk  be  spared  from  rendering  him 
The  rights  of  reverence  due  to  God  alone; 
Which  now  he  claims  and  would  by  force  exact, 

40 


PHILO 

And,  whether  or  no  the  embassy  I  take, 

We  fain  would  someway  hinder  as  we  may!). 

And  therefore  is  the  need  to  read  anew 

The  Exodos  in  guise  of  parable, 

The  wandering  in  the  wilderness,  for  words 

Of  allegory  to  this  future  time; 

And  understand  the  peace  of  promised  lands 

(Which  peace  indeed  did  yield  unceasing  war!) 

Not  for  a  temporal  dominion,  save 

Some  Mind-Messiah,  yea,  for  Paraclete, 

Logos  of  all  the  angel-daimon  host, 

An  Hebrew-Hellenist  of  cultured  tongue, 

In  God's  good  time  arise  to  heal  the  wounds 

Of  Judah's  spirit  decried  and  wisdom  spurn'd 

Of  Moses  from  beneath  the  brazen  heel 

Of  Roman  bigot!  And  until  that  day 

Of  logic-wrought  deliverance  (which  each  man 

May  hasten  haply  too  with  prayer  or  praise) 

Must  he  who  would  to  Judah  be  a  guide 

Interpret  Scripture  as  a  painted  wall 

Of  old  word-picture,  mystic,  secret  glyph 

Scarce-understanded  yet  a  paradigm 

Of  modern  application,  helpful  aye 

For  guidance  from  the  bondage  of  our  tribe 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  latter  days:  the  last,  I  trust,  of  earth 
Before  the  coming  of  the  spirit's  King. 
But  so,  no  refuge  may  be  from  the  wrath, 
The  curses  and  the  blows  of  conquerors 
Who  hold  the  Holy  City  with  the  grasp 
Of  plunder  and  oppression,  who  oppress 
Judah  in  every  city  of  the  East 
Or  West  alike  with  cruelty  of  stripes, 
Betraying  Israel's  trust  where  God  hath  said: 
'The  lands  of  milk  and  honey  shall  be  yours'  — 
Though  Rome  be  now  of  Hellenism  the  home 
As  Hellenism  be  of  mundane  power; 
And  Israel  waits  but  mind's  millennium 
Of  coalescence  with  Hellenic  reason 
To  earn  the  spirit-lordship  of  the  world!  — 
We  wait!  There  is  no  refuge  upon  earth! 

Ai,  ai;  there  is  no  refuge  as  of  yore! 
But  now,  while  yet  we  wait  the  culture-hope 
Of  coalescence  with  an  Hellenism, 
Must  something  in  relief  of  temporal  shame 
Be  largely  undertaken,  or  we  perish. 
For  now,  as  said,  no  lands  of  vineyardage 
Remain  unto  our  people,  save  the  lash 
42 


PHILO 

Of  Qesar's  tax-extortion  spoil  the  fruit 
Of  harvest  and  the  legions  take  away 
All  profit  and  all  honor  from  the  homes 
Of  husbandry  and  of  our  Law's  delight, 
Despoiling  synagogues,  ay,  ravishing 
Chest-treasure  from  Jehovah  and  defiling 
The  temple  of  the  body  of  our  maids 
(Which  should  be  clean,  for  altars  of  the  soul) 
With  lewdness  and  the  bastardy  of  babes 
Which  bear  the  enmixture  of  a  gentile  blood. 
That  measures  must  be  taken  to  prevail 
Against  the  oppression  of  the  Roman  flesh 
If  Hellenism  of  Hebraic  soul 
(So  otherwise  than  bastardy  of  blood!), 
The  mind's  millennium,  Logos  upon  earth, 
Be  ever  as  expected;  measures  wrought 
In  terms  of  temporal  resistance,  strength 
Of  obstinacy,  waiting,  working  for  it 
Even  as  the  Roman  works  who  doth  prevail  — 
Though  not  by  leading-out,  where  refuge  is  not! 
A  modern-Moses,  were  he  with  us  now, 
What  might  he  do  for  Israel,  how  proceed 
(Smiting  the  rock  of  world's  unrighteousness) 
To  turn  our  tribulations  and  escape 
43 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

The  Roman  wantonnesses?  There  hath  been 
In  Palestine  about  Jerusalem 
And  reaching  unto  Alexandria 
Some  rumor  of  one  all-uncultured  braggart, 
With  high  but  impious  claim  like  Caesar's  own 
And  history  aping  Moses',  Jesus  named, 
In  circumstance  ironical  condemn'd 
And  suffering  crucifixion  recently  — 
Much  to  the  satisfaction,  as  I  deem, 
Both  of  the  Roman  governor  and  wisely 
Of  Caiaphas  as  well;  for  anarchy 
Well  might  ensue  were  ignorance  to  rule. 
Nay,  he  could  be  (a  carpenter)  no  Son 
Of  great  Jehovah  Whom  his  claim  blasphemed, 
No  Logos-intervention  in  the  world ! 
And  (oh,  I  'd  fain  't  were  otherwise,  alas!) 
No  Paraclete,  Hellenic  culture-type 
Of  truths  Hebraic,  shall  be  in  my  time. 
Him  I  shall  see  not  who  am  growing  old.  — 
Yet,  yet!  a  true  second-Moses  in  mine  age, 
This  year,  to-day,  this  hour  indeed  might  strive 
Through  influence  of  the  holy  picturing 
Newly  illuminate  with  insight  fresh 
Of  wise  interpretation  (which  my  heart 
44 


PHILO 

Hath  ever  loved  and  reverenced!)  to  release 
Our  folk  from  bondage,  turning  thus  again 
Judah's  captivity!  Though,  if  this  be  I, 
This  Moses  —  and  where  else  may  he  be  found 
Than  here  in  Egypt?  —  how  should  I  proceed 
(The  call  from  Horeb  being  for  me  intended) 
Where  desert  wastes  afford  no  more  a  rescue, 
And  Pharaoh  for  a  God  upon  the  earth 
(Spare,  Lord,  Thy  people  from  the  worship  of  him !) 
Bindeth  his  yoke  on  every  place  thereof? 
Yet,  grasp  the  riper  wisdom,  in  default 
Of  desert  fastness  for  escape  from  Rome  — 
More  wisely  than  the  cenobite  Essenes 
(Who,  stung  no  less  by  every  flesh-temptation, 
Flee  but  the  conflict  of  the  race  to-come; 
Without,  by  righteous  works,  achieving  conquest 
Of  any  Canaan  beyond  wilderness) 
Who  take  the  letter,  but  ignore  the  truth 
Of  fresh  conditions  —  learn  and  grasp,  my  soul, 
The  reason-teaching,  Jewry  how  to  rescue 
Scarce  by  escape  but  by  a  courage  nobler 
Of  Daniel  in  the  den;  taking  upon  me 
This  mission  unto  Caesar  to  demand 
First  our  religion,  to  his  claim  adverse 

45 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  honors  superhumanly  divine; 
First  his  protection  promised  for  the  cult 
Of  great  Jehovah;  and,  that  granted  us, 
His  further  admonition  to  the  mob 
And  to  this  cruel  Bassus,  to  allow  us 
(As  pledged  unto  our  fathers)  here  in  peace 
To  dwell  in  trade  assiduously  —  awaiting 
Still  a  Messiah  to  the  trump  of  doom 
If  so  our  people  please  (the  King,  I  mean, 
Of  Spirit-Culture  ruling  Reason's  world!), 
But  meanwhile  hoarding  unto  politic  ends 
The  riches  of  achievement,  merchant-power 
(The  waters  of  the  rock-face  gushing  out !) 
To  serve  well  as  the  chosen  Logos-folk 
Unto  evangel  of  philosophy 
The  purposes  of  kingdom  when  He  come. 
For  all  may  not  be  left  for  God  to  do 
As  when  His  manna  fed  the  wilderness. 
But  He  will  help  who  first  have  help'd  themselves 
To  turn  oppression  to  a  secret  gain 
And,  in  earth's  sudden  clarification,  rise 
Soldiers  and  heralds  of  the  Paraclete, 
Possessors  of  the  earth,  knowing  to  use 
The  bounty  of  the  world  stored-up  unseen 
46 


PHILO 

(As  practice-wisdom  in  the  Scriptures  hideth) 

Till  opportunity  with  hand-of-God 

Display'd  in  Him  Who  shall  make  new  all  minds, 

Discover  in  the  people  of  His  choice 

(This  leaven  of  the  universal  bread 

That  feedeth  Roman,  Hellenist  alike) 

Already  them  who  hold  in  fee  the  nations, 

Exacting  tribute  whereof  Caesar's  seems 

But  idle  dross.   For  enterprise  alone, 

Not  tyranny  (more  than  labor  isolate 

Essenelike),  shall  what  trade's  own  toil  creates 

Acquire  and  hold  till  God  pronounce  us  Kings  — 

Not  of  a  petty,  temporal  empire,  nay, 

But  to  eternity,  time's  archetype 

In  Platon's  creed  descried,  whose  thousand  years 

Of  waiting,  be  they  tens  of  thousands  still, 

Serve  and  shall  serve  best  to  a  patient  folk 

For  aye-unending  opportunity 

And,  at  the  last,  fullness  of  spirit-truth! 

Leave  to  the  cenobite  the  literal  word 
Of  Moses  and  of  Aaron,  Pharaoh  'spoil'd 
By  flight  unto  the  desert  fastnesses! 
Learn  from  the  lips  of  men  and  angels  both 
47 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

The  novel  exegesis;  upon  earth 

(Of  that  same  Jesus  spoken,  with  wisdom  haply) 

Peace  among  men  until  millennium, 

Not  for  secluded  sanctity,  support 

In  mere  provision  by  a  manual  toil 

Of  unforeseeing  mouth-necessity, 

But,  labor  for  fruit  of  trade,  for  world-resource, 

Possession  of  a  wealth  among  mankind 

Exceeding  wealth  of  very  Solomon 

Or  Caesar  —  and  the  Moses  be  myself 

To  plead  a  peace,  a  privilege  for  toil 

And  trade,  unto  the  sons  of  Israel 

Unarm'd,  unharming;  ah,  but  secretly 

Achieving  conquest  that  our  Judah's  folk, 

Their  spirit-strength  in  worldly  prudence  based, 

Be  worth  the  coming  of  the  Paraclete 

(The  Logos-upon-earth  and  mutual  wisdom 

Of  Moses,  Platon  or  Pythagoras) ; 

They,  used  to  earth-possession  ere  He  come; 

Ay,  worth  God's  Choice!  — For  friends  have  urged 

me  on 

To  voyage  unto  Caesar  in  the  cause 
Of  peace,  to  plead  that  persecutions  cease 
In  Alexandria  and  hate  have  end. 

48 


PHILO 

And  I  have  half-demurr'd,  not  in  the  fear 

Of  Caesar's  wrath  (though  well  might  he  destroy 

Such  embassy)  but,  heeding  Aaron's  way 

And  Moses'  of  escape  into  the  wastes 

As  these  Essenes  and  lonelier  anchorites 

Mistake  the  method  for  a  literal 

Acceptance  of  example!   But  I  see 

(Allowing  now  the  soul  to  follow-out 

In  contemplation  every  influence 

Making  for  inward  mastery),  I  see 

And  feel  the  workings  of  the  symbol-truth, 

The  mystic  meaning  to  the  times  applied, 

Like  picture-glyphs  upon  old  Pharaoh's  stones 

Still  sacred  though  their  literal  intent 

(The  leading-forth  by  Moses,  as  I  mean, 

To  any  refuge:  which  I  now  forswear!) 

Of  Pharaoh's  headship,  whence  could  be  escape 

Unto  a  Canaan,  be  no  more  believed 

Because  of  Caesar.  —  I  will  voyage  to  him, 

A  second  Moses,  there  to  plead  of  peace! 


49 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 

FORASMUCH  as  the  gods  have  gifted  me    , 
With  firmness,  with  a  fortitude  to  bear 
The  burden  of  this  world  imperial; 
And  by  perfervid  sentience  of  mine  heart 
Above  the  stupor  of  the  cooler  clod 
To  imitate,  within,  the  soul  without 
Of  the  universe  at  fiery  potency; 
Forasmuch  as  I  feel  within  myself 
(Perceiving,  as  with  sense  which  seems  not  sense 
Of  stuff  material,  my  frame  beyond!) 
This  integration  of  the  logos-seed 
Resistive  to  attack  from  aught  of  earth 
And  self-containedly  the  all-contain'd 
Sustaining  in  the  daily  storm  and  stress 
Of  strains  antagonistic,  reconciled 
In  power  effective  of  the  spirit  of  me 
Controlling  destinies  unto  mine  own 
Of  men  and  nations  in  the  Roman  name: 
How  should  the  heart  of  me,  made  staunch  and  true 
By  favor  of  the  gods,  in  least  complain 
Of  duty  and  imperial  destiny? 
How  seek  for  soul's  performance  any  path 

50 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 

Sweeter  than  this  of  privilege  to  be 

Upholder  to  the  universal  Rome, 

Central  support;  by  high  hyperbole, 

Well-nigh  as  though  some  world-soul  of  the  State; 

As  in  our  doctrine  of  the  Stoa  taught 

Best  ultimate  recompense  of  any  man  — 

Who,  death  beyond,  incorporates  with  All; 

And  dwells,  imperial  of  the  universe, 

At  last  Augustan  at  the  flame  of  God? 

Forasmuch  as  the  gods  have  made  me  strong, 

Why  murmur  as  for  weakness,  why  admit 

Weight  of  the  world  for  burden,  be  distraught 

At  heart  with  presage  of  a  Rome  foregone 

And  universe  disrupted?  Am  not  I 

Able  to  labor  yet  nor  be  dismay'd? 

And,  while  the  power  and  honor  of  the  State 

Rest  in  me,  shall  this  soul  of  me  betray 

The  trust,  the  confidence  wherewith  the  gods 

Appointed  me  to  kingship?  Let  him  seek 

Relief,  in  whom  responsibility 

Meets  and  awakes  no  native  kingliness 

Of  prudence  and  of  wisdom.    In  my  heart 

Have  the  immortals  planted  self-control 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Wherethrough  alone  may  man  control  the  world. 
Unto  my  vast  responsibility 
(Keeping  me  thus  with  nature  in  accord) 
My  nature  makes  response.  Though  I  be  worn 
With  bodily  discomfort  (though  the  waves 
Beat  round !) ;  though  Rome  be  wasted  with  the  year: 
As  I ;  and  these  the  Marcomanni  knock 
With  deathly  warning  at  the  open  door 
Of  self-destruction  to  our  madden'd  State; 
Yet  shall  my  soul  be  firm  (stilling  the  waves 
Reverberative  wide!)  which  feels  within 
The  strength  to  save  and  be  (hyperbole 
Of  rhetor  whilst  it  seem !)  soul-like  for  all  — 
Though  elsewise  be  the  days  but  vanity, 
But  sickness  and  corruption  unto  earth; 
But  gods  gone  stale  who  scarce  may  be  fulfill'd 
Save  inasmuch  as  setting  man's  soul  to  it, 
Gifting  him  with  the  courage  to  sustain! 
For  thus  the  Stoic  wisdom,  grasp  of  truth 
Firm  and  supporting  in  the  wreck  of  things 
And  Rome's  bewilderment,  her  forfeiture 
Of  ancient  piety  and  god-respect. 
For  with  the  forfeiture  of  fair  respect 
Toward  gods  (the  temple-stone's  entablature 

52 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 

Of  empire)  and  with  folly  of  the  sects 
Of  Christ  (seditious  even  as  impious, 
Fanatic,  truculent  and  turbulent!), 
Of  I  sis  or  Mithraic  mysteries 
Corrupting  Rome,  hath  solidarity 
Of  Rome's  imperial  purport  pass'd  away 
And  in  the  passing  sapp'd  the  Empire's  arm 
Of  nerve  and  sinew:  that  our  legions  lie 
Battling  along  the  Empire's  bounds  alarm'd, 
In  panic-desperation  though  we  crush 
These  naked  Marcomannic  breasts  anew 
An  hundred  times  with  bitterness  of  war 
Still  never  ended;  whilst  the  Roman  State 
Melts  man  by  man  into  a  common  grave 
With  these  barbarians;  or  Danuvius  takes 
Civic  and  pagan  blood,  mere  blood  alike, 
Down  to  the  distant,  dismal  Euxine  sink 
And  there  in  sacrifice  of  Parthian  hordes 
Lustrates  at  last,  purifies  salinely 
The  world  from  Rome's  dominion  —  that  a  world, 
Innocent  of  our  tyranny  and  stench, 
Arise  that  shall  forget  us!   I,  the  last 
Of  Romans  (for  who  else  to-day  takes  heed 
To  Tibris?)  realize  the  tragedy 
53 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

In  mine  own  flesh,  anticipate  the  world; 
And  feel  in  me  our  tyranny  forgot 
And  mine  imperial  load  not  vainly  laid 
Down  at  the  basis  of  a  nobler  State 
Haply,  at  worst  even  in  the  womb  of  things 
Where  godliness  in  conflagration  makes 
Of  chaos  sure  foundation.   But  the  gods 
Meanwhile  have  given  me  strength  to  play  my  part: 
Feeling  for  mine  the  wholeness  of  the  world, 
As  runs  the  doctrine.   Unto  each  new  task 
Be  the  wise  heart  address'd  unto  the  end; 
Forasmuch  as  the  gods  have  set  man  to  it. 

Ay,  no  man  may  be  (though  the  Cynics  taught  — 
Too  inaccordant  with,  or  world-without 
Or,  world-within  the  senses  of  a  soul  — 
And  some  among  the  Stoics  have  believed!) 
Sufficient  to  himself,  heart-unaware 
Of  burden  and  responsibility 
By  tasks  beyond  the  momentary  man. 
Though  the  soul  fain  were  free  and  sweet  to  feel 
An  inward  emptiness  in  riddance  of 
All  outward  obligation,  yet  the  Soul 
Of  All  within  the  soul  hath  hold  on  him 
54 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 

And  aye  impels  unto  the  task  of  all 
And  universal  burden,  making  light 
Indeed  the  infinite  imposition,  teaching 
The  way  of  heart's  effectuality 
Even  in  the  linkage  soul  with  soul  throughout 
The  intimate  extension.   Nought  were  known 
Of  any  world,  were  the  soul-sense,  as  said, 
Circumscribed  in  the  conscience  of  the  man 
To  the  mere  frame  of  man  as  he  appears 
Large  though  on  throne  of  Caesar  loftily/ 
Yet  empty  in  an  isolation  felt 
Of  passionless  self-containment !   Yea,  were  mind 
A  tablet  razed,  then  might  the  vacancy 
Suffer  no  plenishment;  and  blank  remain 
The  world  of  any  meaning  in  my  soul, 
Though  ne'er  so  Antonine,  unto  this  day! 
Yet  have  things  meaning  and  a  passion  born 
Of  strength,  not  emptiness.  And  mind  were  even 
Some  fecundation  of  an  universe, 
A  logos-seed  still  individual, 
A  God-containment  (in  the  personal  self 
By  sense-containment)  of  the  world  without  — 
In  being  with  me  created  unto  earth 
Whilst  in  me  and  alone  because  within 
55 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Cosmic,  pneumatic,  fundamental,  whole: 
The  self-control  which  yields  control  of  all, 
The  world-control  which  is  man's  hold  of  truth ! 
The  man  is  ultimate;  for  God  within 
(And  only  Godhood  proven  of  the  self!) 
Compels  the  God-assumption.  And  I  strive 
And  strike  and  am  effectual  through  the  world; 
Not  evidencing  soulhood  cosmical 
Of  the  world  as  over-god,  but  of  myself 
In  terms  of  God  demonstrable  within  me  — 
The  worldhood  of  a  soul :  as  after  death 
Dream'd  for  deliverance,  so  now  in  life 
Myself  imperial  of  the  universe, 
From  first  Augustan  at  the  flame  of  God, 
Waiting  not  unto  death  (which  well  may  prove 
A  self-extinction  of  the  person-God 
As  of  the  person?)  to  create  through  God, 
As  God  through  me,  this  warring  world  of  Rome: 
Incorporate  of  all,  life-recompensed, 
Myself  by  soul  the  fiery  potency! 
T  were  thus  the  undying  godship  of  man's  heart 
(True  temple-stone  of  all-world  empire!) 
Alone  sustains  this  Marcomannic  war, 
Alone  remains  unbroken  with  the  frame 
56 


MARCUS  AUREhlUS 

Of  self  or  city;  godship,  by  this  sense 

Of  felt  and  passionate  identity 

(Not  in  the  smoulder'd  ashes  of  a  corpse 

But  in  perfervid  sentience  rational!) 

Through  and  beyond  this  Roman  polity. 

This  only  can  enable  me  to  bear 

With  fortitude  and  equanimity 

The  woes  of  the  world :  a  wisdom  of  the  world 

(Scarce  of  the  stale,  insufferable  gods 

A  gift  to  endure  their  task  nor  faint  for  it; 

Nor  of  the  sheer  sensation  isolate, 

And  so  insensible!)  which  is  the  God. 

And  God  is  of  me  as  I  labor  wisely.  — 

Where  God  is  of  each  wise  man  laboring 

And  every  wise  man  laboring  is  God, 

Must  world  have  solidarity  though  Rome, 

Ebbing  with  blood  upon  Danuvius  slink 

To  wan  oblivion.   Though  the  world  be  rid 

Of  all  the  gods  held  sacred,  yet  shall  God 

(Men's  worldhood  each  as  soul-alive  divine!) 

Give  strength;  and  in  Him  be  the  gods  fulfill'd. 


57 


PLOTINUS 

THERE  is  a  mighty  storm  upon  the  sea 
Impostumated  after  starless  nights. 
And  I  in  peril  with  the  driven  ship 
Through  wrath  of  elements;  though  they  and  I 
(My  soul,  my  mind  but  godlike  more  than  they) 
Alike  be  emanation-borne  and  fill'd 
With  peace  undying  of  eternity 
The  fearless  as  the  moveless!  And,  for  now 
The  danger  and  the  dizziness  o'erwhelm 
Of  physic-element  and  sensuous  things, 
Shall  I  enshrine  my  soul  within  herself 
Contemplative  above  the  fears  impress'd, 
By  stimulation  taken  of  the  fear 
To  search  in  sense  for  truth,  to  seek  a  sign 
For  meanings  intimate  and  ultimate 
In  outward  things  that  work  upon  me  now, 
(These  elements  which  so  assert  their  power: 
To  conquer  outward  things  whilst  learning  in  them 
(An  haply  logos  in  them  may  be  found) 
A  symbol  of  the  all-ineffable !  — 

The  emanation  of  the  ineffable 
58 


PLOT  IN  US 

Is  little  like  this  sea-wind's  perilous  force 
That  shifting  blows,  whether  from  east,  west,  south 
I  wot  not  —  blows  now  here,  now  there,  and  yields 
No  certainty  directive  though  through  leagues 
Hurrying  amain  and  hurling  potency 
To  world's  remotest  bounds.    But  like  the  gale 
In  part,  although  inverse  of  operance 
And  urging  by  attraction  spiritual 
Not  physic-thrust  the  minions  of  its  mood, 
Is  godliest  emanation  which  impels 
With  intimate  insistence  every  soul 
(As  every  wave  is  driven  of  the  wind) 
Unto  her  source  with  onward  tendency 
Which  needs  were  Godward  whatsoe'er  the  way; 
Whilst  thereby  unto  seeming  vacuum, 
The  All-thing  that  is  nothing  outwardwise, 
Itself  return'd  and  indrawn,  on  itself 
Revolving  self-contain'd  if  overt  still  - 
As  these  dark  clouds  like  sand-whirl  African 
(I  fear  their  gathering  fury  sinister!) 
Aswirl  over  the  mast-head  seem  to  show 
My  storm-bewilder'd  senses,  though  the  air 
Itself  be  black-invisible!   Yet,  unlike 
Aught  atmospheric  in  directive  truth 
59 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(From  God  and  Godward  whatsoe'er  the  way), 
The  emanations  are  a  constancy, 
However  of  diverseness  infinite; 
A  guide  to  steer  by  an  we  need  to  steer: 
As,  Gordianus  slain  and  I  escaped 
In  peace,  the  pilot  seeks  from  Antioch  — 
I  dare  not  ask  him  if  the  course  be  lost !  — 
Romeward  to  steer  the  vessel.   Thus  the  hint 
Of  circumstance,  this  storm-experience 
Of  turmoil,  variance  in  the  things  that  move 
(In  aimless  blustering  of  the  baffling  squall 
So  frame-disheartening  and  so  sickening  with 
The  giddiness  and  wallow  of  the  wave; 
And  yet  withal  so  inly  clarifying 
And  stimulant  because  so  beautiful 
In  storm's  symmetric  power  balancing 
By  force  all  counter-purpose!)  serves  the  soul 
With  thought,  with  recognition  of  herself 
In  outward  things,  searching  the  paradox 
For  symbol,  for  the  like  and  the  unlike 
To  spirit  in  this  the  cosmos.    If  at  Rome 
(First  Ostia  reach'd  by  fortune  unforeseen) 
I  needs  must  pedagogically  prove 
The  truths  of  Godhood  the  ineffable, 
60 


PLOTINUS 

Should  sign  and  symbol  for  the  paradox 

Be  found;  or  words  be  wanting,  nothing  taught. 

And,  in  the  weakness  of  the  body  sick 

And  helpless  to  assist  with  any  plan 

The  steersman,  half  in  fear  if  half-released 

The  soul  lies  free  to  beauty,  to  perceive 

By  likeness  and  unlikeness  unto  God 

Significance  within  the  element 

Its  all-controlling  grandeur  and  devise, 

Built  of  the  beauty,  spiritual  truths 

(Like  universal  air)  at  one  with  God 

Though  given  in  symbol  which  she  half-rejects 

Whilst  half-accepting.   For  the  truth  of  God 

(Truth  not  the  world  as  sense  perceiveth  it) 

Were  vortex-void  in  sooth,  nothing  of  God 

Nor  verity,  unless  the  soul  (herself 

Of  nature  mix'd,  matter  and  reason  both) 

Conceive  the  spirit-paradox  —  in  calm 

Of  very  storm  and  sickness  —  and  so  find 

Symbols  which  even  in  unlikeness  prove 

Half-like  and  somewise  are  of  God  the  truth 

Because  of  reason  though  material 

And  recognised  by  soul  as  of  herself. 


61 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

For,  though  God  be  but  one  (and  not  an  one 
Of  unit-quantity  that  enters  thus 
In  multiplicity)  yet  multiple 
(Both  one  and  many  as  God  is  not  one) 
Is  God's  self-emanation.  And  the  world, 
Though  not  God,  yet  in  beauty  thus  perceived 
Of  power  and  eke  of  terror  taking  it 
Allows  for  life  in  God  and  ecstasy! 
And  air  affords,  if  scarce  by  fitfulness 
In  fury  yet,  by  cosmic  continence 
Of  all-impulsive  power  self-contain'd 
(Although  in  thrust  dynamic,  not  in  love!) 
Some  image  haply  of  the  ineffable. 
But  yet  the  uncertain  wind  I  would  reject 
At  heart,  that  showeth  not  an  own  desire 
(With  wrath  to  thwart  the  pilot  and  make  faint 
The  body  by  a  weltering;  though  therethrough 
Perchance,  and  to  the  gale  unwittingly, 
Be  soul  by  relaxation  stimulate!)  — 
The  wind  that,  like  the  barbarous  and  bad 
Of  mankind,  showeth  not  an  own  desire 
For  God  but  seeketh  blindly,  gropingly, 
Cloudily  dark  the  way  of  immanence. 
(The  storm  were  at  its  bursting,  as  I  judge, 
62 


PLOTINUS 

Whilst  the  ship  staggers  and  the  steersman  shouts 

Hoarsely  his  hard  commands  within  the  gloom !) 

And  how  might  ocean,  vague  and  agitant, 

Yield  intellect  a  figure?   Doth  the  truth, 

However  self-composed  of  world's  dismay, 

In  high  self-contemplation  irritate 

(Like  this  same  sea  which  beats  at  her  own  breast) 

Its  all-sufficiency  with  failure-stress; 

That  agony  should  typify  for  thought 

The  ultimate  poise  and  uniformity? 

If  now  in  misery  I  yet  achieve 

A  contemplation  and  an  inwardness, 

Would  men,  save  haply  an  Origenes 

Hebraic,  chaotic  and  chimerical  — 

Would  men  so  take  an  anguish  for  a  sign 

When,  save  the  Stoa  with  its  cold  content, 

Our  order'd  Hellenism  (self-severe, 

Ascetic  outwardly)  yet  makes  for  joy 

And  plaineth  only  when  the  very  plaint 

Implies  a  tumult-beauty  press'd  upon  it? 

And  as  for  earth  (though,  might  a  long-sought  shore 

Loom  safe,  unshaken,  how  desirable!) 

Should  any  principle  so  dead  as  earth 

Which  of  itself  would  seem  to  speech  inert, 

63 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Be  liken'd  to  the  inmost  core  of  life? 

T  is  true  that  earth  were  than  the  air  or  sea 

More  stable,  safe  for  man  and  comforting 

And  hence  akin  to  truth's  eternity. 

But  of  itself  were  earth  not  purposeful, 

Impellant  nor  directive  potently. 

'T  is  true,  too,  that  in  earth,  as  all  men  know, 

(Ai !  also  in  these  terror-thundering  skies !) 

Leaps  fire  unquenchable.  And,  should  we  gain 

By  fortune  of  the  tempest  or  by  skill 

Right  for  the  Scyllan  straits  and  storm  be  o'er, 

Should  I  behold  as  never  hitherto 

(Or,  by  Neapolis,  the  tomb  of  towns 

Vesuvius  might  serve  and  Plinius'  tale, 

Vesuvius  more  angry  latterly?) 

The  fount  of  hidden  fire  that  Sicily 

Hath  erst  despoil'd.  And  fire  might  well  afford 

Symbol  of  self-compulsion  absolute 

More  marvellous  than  storm-wind  thus  and  yield 

The  truth  a  teaching  and  a  paradigm? 

And  beauty,  ay,  be  felt  in  fear  thereof 

As  in  this  fear  of  tempest  on  me  now? 

But  fire  as  fire  were  too  tempestuous 

For  teaching  of  transmutance  crystalline 


PLOT  IN  US 

Its  peace  beyond  adventuring;  ah  me, 
Too  terrible,  unless  the  fear  entrance! 
And  I,  though  fearful  and  in  fear  possess'd 
Of  beauty-cognisance,  would  not  to  men, 
Who  well  might  miss  the  beauty,  teach  a  fear! 
So,  shall  a  fire  which  man  must  mainly  fear 
(Despite  a  latent  beauty  half-perceived 
For  imitation  of  a  v/rath-of-soul !) 
Bursting,  enraged  and  life-destructive  (ai! 
A  bolt  that  stings  and  hisses  nearward!)  grant 
The  logos  to  our  logic  and  be  body, 
Filling  the  pedagogic  need  of  sign, 
To  spiritual  speech  and  ecstasy? 
Though  /Etna  seen  above  the  swirling  seas 
Might  seem  a  rescue  out  of  all  distress 
(The  pilot  haply  may  outride  the  storm 
And  reach  an  haven  near  Messana's  port), 
Yet  fire,  although  the  mightiest  element 
And  doubtless  purest,  shall  not  stand  for  God. 

What,  then,  may  stand  at  all?    I  deem  no  stuff 
Nor  strength  of  an  universe  at  voyaging, 
However  haply  like-unlike  to  God 
Or  truly  of  God-substance  innermostly, 
65 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Efficient  to  embody  unto  speech 
The  truths  of  emanation  utterly. 
And  thus  my  thought,  although  but  now  inclined, 
Because  of  beauty,  kindlier  unto  them, 
Mine  inmost  mind  must  solemnly  reject 
For  symbol  each  and  every  element 
(There  are  but  four,  despite  new-fangled  schemes!), 
Air,  water,  earth  or  fire,  thus  all  alike  — 
Acceptable  though  unto  antiquity 
In  texts  of  physiographers  extant 
Who  spied  no  paradox  but  took  the  world 
Without  significance  intelligible 
For  cosmos  self-sustain'd  nor  sought  in  soul ! 
The  physiographers  would  sing  but  myth 
(Anaximandros  yet  knew  boundlessness !) 
Not  serious  faith :  their  terms  unfit  to  sponsor 
(Nor  is  mere  breath  the  spirit,  as  some  would  hold) 
For  symbol-figure  unto  spirit-speech.  — 
Wherein,  at  least,  that  nothing  of  the  world 
As  taken  in  experience  of  sense 
Sufficeth  to  exhibit  Unity 
Am  I  at  heart  with  old  Pythagoras, 
To  whom  indeed  past  and  to-come  might  well 
Be  signified  of  system  presently 
66 


PLOTINUS 

(Ay,  wiselier  than  by  mere  Parmenides !) 
In  Number,  emanation  verily 
Out  of  the  womb  of  Unity,  an  One 
Ever-repeating  in  each  increment, 
Whilst  in  such  integration  overtwise 
Afforded  quality,  a  character 
Definable  as  unity  despite 
Its  serial  difference  from  unity 
And  so  by  unity  substantial  still! 
But,  for  Pythagoras,  although  in  sooth 
He  voyaged,  toss'd  upon  the  tumbling  seas, 
And  should  have  known  their  spirit-loneliness 
And  need  of  organon  to  reconcile 
With  distant  bliss  the  hourly  dole  and  woe, 
Seems  nought  wherein  the  integrating  truth, 
Save  if  by  demonstration  cold,  remote 
And  unappealing  to  the  love  of  Love, 
Were  power  and  presence  to  the  faith  of  man. 
For  Platon,  there  be  many  unities, 
As  many  as  there  be  within  the  world 
Life-kinds  or  aspects,  that  the  voyager 
Might  at  all  seasons  mentally  partake 
In  integration  of  intelligence 
Perchance,  but  never  in  the  absolute  sign 
6? 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Achieve,  enjoy  the  ultimate  immanence. 
And,  though  to  Aristoteles  a  truth 
Static,  beyond  the  immediate  atmosphere 
(Nor  will  it  aid,  with  Anaxagoras, 
To  make  of  mind  almost  an  element !) 
Stood  postulate  and  illustrate  in  each 
And  every  yearning  toward  the  God  of  law, 
What  way  of  emanation  offer'd  he, 
Of  mutual  intropermeance  of  zeal 
(Unless  by  fair  example  in  himself!), 
By  any  kinship  of  the  God  with  world 
Inherent  unto  either  mutually 
Or  symbol  of  enshrining  sustenance? 
Though  someway  is  the  symbol  requisite, 
The  soul  an  universal  voyager 
Akin  to  natural  facts  as  unto  mind 
And  in  them  known,  not  as  an  alien  thing 
To  alien  things  created  as  by  act 
Foreign  in  source  to  that  it  mediateth, 
But  of  herself  unto  herself  sofar 
As  finding  beauty  by  their  symmetries, 
Their  balancing  of  forces  or  of  fears; 
Akin  to  natural  facts  and  needing  them 
Although  save  reason-serving  they  were  nought; 
68 


PLOTINUS 

Herself  (the  soul,  as  other  than  the  mind 
And  thereby  making-up  the  natural  man) 
Nought  save  demonstrable  in  natural  things: 
An  emptiness,  a  vortex-vacuum 
In  literal  troth  and  not  herself  a  stade 
Of  emanation  save  she  reach  both  ways 
Worldward  and  mindward.   And  the  Stoics'  cult 
Of  physic  world-soul  (which  should  contradict 
Their  mood-indifference),  ay,  despite  therein 
An  hint  of  intellect,  I  dubiously 
Distinguish  from  an  antique  burning-up 
Or  burning-down  of  Herakleitos'  scheme: 
A  sign  mistook  for  that  it  signifies; 
And  signifies,  if  by  the  proved  mistake, 
Too  darkly  for  the  teaching  of  the  truth ! 
Ah !  though  I  voyage  and  am  wholly  held 
In  weakness,  sickness  of  the  sea-wide  wash 
(And  fear  of  the  tempest,  found  yet  beautiful!) 
Shall  I  not  yield  unto  the  easier  way 
Whether  of  myth-worn  element  with  those 
Of  earlier  days  or,  with  the  Stagirite 
And  Platon,  of  a  truth  beyond  our  world, 
But  with  the  mind  seek  still  if  ecstasy 
(A  standing  in  the  very  truth  of  things 

69 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Though  living  and  embodied)  be  allow'd 
With  weakness  of  this  weariness  and  fear; 
And  vision  of  the  final  symbol  come 
With  swooning  of  the  sorry  wanderer. 
The  speech  must  be  embodied;  else  were  God 
Without  world-emanation  and  the  soul 
Mute  in  the  presence  of  the  sensuous  show 
Whose  beauty  mirrors  and  partakes  of  her! 
The  speech  must  be  embodied.  And  the  mind 
Turns  in  upon  herself  in  fear  of  storm 
Acknowledging  the  beauty,  yea,  acclaiming 
With  high  abandonment  the  fury  of  it, 
Will-less  but  sapient  as  for  ecstasy. 
Around  me  is  indeed  a  turmoil  wild, 
Through  fainting  senses  for  a  last  time  taken. 
The  waves  wax  high;  the  laboring  vessel  heaves 
And  settles  with  the  billows'  weltering: 
Her  pilot  wots  not  whither,  save  a  sun 
(Unseen  yet  borne  within  his  reasoning  soul) 
With  confidence  directive  guide  him  true 
And  yield  him  certainties  to  me  unkenn'd: 
The  sun,  oh !  would  he  conquer  with  his  beams 
The  blackness  and  with  safety  (which  the  sense 
Still  craves  in  fear  of  death)  ah!  grant  us  light! 
70 


PLOTINUS 

Light !  Can  it  be  that,  high  the  mast  above, 

An  orb  is  struggling,  swirling,  straining  through 

The  hurrying  murk?  Or  doth  a  phantasy 

In  swoon  possess  me  that  I  seem  to  sight 

The  heart's  desire  whilst  yet  my  soul  is  held 

In  elements  adverse?   Doth  ecstasy 

Perchance  excite  a  vision  of  the  good 

Rescue-like  from  this  immanence  of  death, 

Vision  of  emanation  almost  as 

The  One  ineffable?  These  seeming  beams 

Astream,  the  rent  and  scouring  clouds,  the  bright 

Blue  of  the  noon  and  bare  beyond  the  prow 

A  lift  of  the  land,  a  mountainous  upthrust 

To  /Etna's  overpowering  eminence: 

All  dream'd  though  in  the  agony  of  death 

By  virtue  of  the  visioning!  —  Ah,  Light! 

Ah,  Light!  in  whom  alone  the  elements 

Have  logos,  bountiful  emanation,  sure, 

Direct,  unswerving  yet  and  penetrant 

(What  heed,  whether  man's  optic  spirits  pierce 

Spaceward  and  thence  rebound  upon  the  eye 

Or  if  sight  be  an  urgent  influence 

In  pact  corpuscular?)  ay,  penetrant 

Athwart  the  universal,  self-evolved 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Unto  the  confines  of  the  universe, 
Whilst  self-directive  ever  immanent 
In  radiance  that  moves  not,  searching  through 
Far  spaces  yet  remaining  at  the  source, 
Creative  as  of  worlds  out  of  itself 
Without  expenditure  of  force  or  time, 
With  scarce  self-diminution:  figure  fit 
(I  care  not  if,  with  scant  significance, 
Thy  name  already  hath  been  mouth'd  in  vain 
In  mysteries  Mithraic  or  the  tropes 
Of  Platen's  teaching  or  Apocalypse) 
For  that  which  must  not  seem  a  myth  beyond 
The  reach  of  life;  which  in  immediacy 
Of  commune  mystic  is  no  mystery 
But  apprehended  of  the  seeing  heart  — 
Light!   I  have  found  thee  in  mine  ecstasy! 
Though  but  a  swooning  dream,  above  the  noon 
Of  fear  and  storm,  I  trust  thee!  O'er  the  soul 
An  influence  of  symbol,  to  the  teaching 
A  tongue,  the  very  language  of  the  mind!  — 
The  sea  grows  strangely  calm !  The  sailors  shout 
As  anchors  plunge  in  the  brine!    The  vessel  swings 
As  't  were  beneath  the  lee  of  some  tall  rock! 
My  faintness  waxeth  firm;  mine  eyesight  cleareth. 
72 


PLOTINUS 

And  light,  yon  subtlest,  shimmering  effluence 
Which  everywhere  from  sun  outpouring  flares 
(The  optic  spirits  be  but  light's  rebound, 
A  to-and-fro  upon  the  Godward  way!) 
With  visible  beams  about  the  heavens  and  o'er 
The  face  of  the  glittering  sea  and  on  the  strand 
And  cliffs  of  island  coast  gleams  ardently; 
A  revelation  of  all  elements, 
A  thing  significant!  Ah!  not  an  air 
Wandering  unwish'd-for,  undirective  through 
Cloud-regions  whither-whither  o'er  the  wave 
And  vaguely  landward,  nor  a  passionate  fire: 
But  thrilling  earth  and  saturating  sea, 
Entrancing  air,  a  fire  without  fear 
And  beautiful  by  souPs-own  gladness  in  it 
And  poise  of  joyous  equability!  — 
No  vision,  then?  No  ecstasy?   But  plain 
Salvation  from  a  watery  wrath  with  just 
Enough  of  frenzy-fear's  intoxication 
To  open  to  the  seeking  soul  a  beauty, 
Teaching  her  of  herself  within  the  world, 
Which  (Gordianus  slain;  but  kind,  Philippus) 
Now  may  I  teach  unto  the  heart  of  Rome !  — 
An  hopeful  waiting  till  the  new  north  wind 
73 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 
Hath  spent  itself  and  will  allow  our  course; 
Meanwhile  in  safety  'neath  a  crystal  sky! 
The  baffled  gale  above  the  guardian  bluff 
Goes  wailing.  And  the  pilot  smiles  serene. 


74 


ORIGEN 

WHAT  mean  the  prosecutions  and  the  cry 
Of  many  perishing,  our  testifying 
By  blood  unto  the  certainty  of  truth? 
What  mean  the  prosecutions;  when  the  truth, 
Darkly  by  pagan  picture,  brightlier  through 
God's  revelation,  if  by  parable 
And  mystic  exegesis  either  way 
In  mouths  of  men  yet,  as  by  allegory, 
Were  equally  intended  at  the  heart 
(For  so  my  Principles  have  plainly  proved) 
Of  every  man  sincere  if  ne'er  so  blind 
(Ah!  even  by  Celsus  in  his  falsities!), 
By  Platon,  Zenon,  Philon  or  by  him 
The  porter-pedagogue  of  whom  I  drew 
Myself  a  sense  of  truth,  though  disbelieved 
In  metaphysic,  literal  detail 
Be  Platonist  or  Gnostic  or  whatnot 
Of  minor  heresies?  And  if  myself, 
Following  Clement's  or  Pantaenus'  strength, 
By  proof  of  loftier  insight  have  opposed, 
Through  fifty  years  of  teachings  liberal 
And  generous  to  the  weaklier  counterproof, 
75 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

The  lesser  evidence  of  pagan  schools 
And  spake  by  splendor  of  a  God  reveal'd 
Logos-wise  to  the  reason  and  the  heart 
In  Christ  His  history  and  parable 
When  mystically  reinterpreted 
To  anagogic  wonder  —  for  such  share 
In  universal  wisdom  shared  by  all, 
For  such  a  part  in  man's  humility 
(Which  every  Christian  hath)  and  wish  to 

serve, 

Should  emperors  and  consuls  instigate 
These  savage  cruelties  of  city  mobs 
Whereby  among  a  many  martyrdoms 
Of  nobler  spirits  now  return'd  to  God 
Even  my  poor  frame  hath  suffer'd,  that  I 

lie 

In  prison-durance  sick  and  fain  to  death 
By  dint  of  punishments  unearn'd  of  men? 
'T  is"  true  that  man  deserveth  punishment 
By  spiritual  fall,  but  expiates 
Prenatal  sin  by  putting  on  the  flesh. 
'T  is  true  that  death-release  returns  to  God 
The  enchasten'd  spirit  with  an  holy  joy 
If  only  in  his  life-time  seeking  truth  : 
76 


ORIGEN 

A  search  made  splendid  and  salvation  sure 
By  evidence  of  unity  with  God 
Afforded  by  atonement,  Christ  for  all, 
The  Logos  in  the  world  of  life  and  death, 
Exhibiting  the  soul's  eternity. 
But  I  am  old  and  in  abundant  pain, 
A  paradigm  of  misery;  and  needs 
Would  understand,  where  understanding  fails, 
This  supererogation.    Man  were  saved 
By  faith  and  knowledge  —  why  this  suffering? 
Ah,  though  mine  inmost  doctrine  would  regard 
The  body  of  Christ  but  as  a  pseudonym 
For  Logos-operation  from  the  first, 
For  mundane-immanent  eternity, 
And  therefore  very  Christ  a  parable 
Of  wisdom  and  the  world's  divinity 
Scarce  quasi-human  in  historic  sense; 
Where  now  the  cosmic  mystery,  where  now 
Unto  this  suffering  body  truth  more  true 
Than  Christ  the  Sufferer  (I  deign'd  to  teach 
But  unto  catechumens!),  He  whose  pain 
Sufficed  unto  the  ages?  Wherefore,  Christ, 
I  question  of  Thee,  even  as  man  to  Man, 
For  comfort  under  torture:  why  Thy  sheep 
77 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Be  slaughtered,  to  what  end  the  wolf  allow'd, 
When  Thou  for  all  mankind  hast  suffered  so? 

I  query,  Christ !  not  solely  for  myself 
(Nor  even  for  my  father,  long  in  peace, 
Leonides  who  died  as  I  may  die) 
But  as  I  am  of  many  sufferers 
An  one  to  whom  Thy  gift  of  tongues  hath  fallen 
In  mark'd  degree,  that  I  someway  may  hope 
By  speech  in  inward  disputance  to  find 
A  way  of  understanding  and  a  sense 
Of  God's  high  Providence  to  future  years 
In  these  His  admonitions  of  dismay. 
For  I  am  bleeding  at  these  smarted  sores 
And  bruised  with  blows,  that  I  am  fain  to  die 
Like  to  Leonides  now  long  in  peace 
My  father  whom  I  loved;  myself  too  old 
To  bear  in  Caesarea  far  from  home 
My  pain  (nay,  I  might  linger  many  months, 
As  I  in  exile  many  years  endured, 
Though  miserable)  who  am  fain  to  die 
A  testimony  to  their  cruelties: 
I  though  without  a  controversial  wrath 
(How  might  we  hate  at  all  who  learn  of  Thee 
73 


ORIGEN 

The  teaching  of  Thy  suffering  in  this  — 
Yea,  were  it  to  kill  wrath,  that  we  should  die 
A  spectacle  for  pity?)  —  I  feeling  all 
Opinions  plausibly  a  veil  of  truth 
Each  in  its  kind  for  symbol;  and  mine  own 
Faith  and  opinion  but  the  noblier  posed 
And  comprehensive  of  the  pagan  truths 
In  warrant  of  Thy  witness  unto  men! 
Unto  the  purpose  of  a  truth  prevailed 
Against  the  demons'  machinating  power 
Thy  witness  was  essential :  how  now  mine 
In  feeblest  imitation  though  it  be? 
How  need  the  imitation  of  Thy  pain 
Who  conquer  by  an  imitant  belief? 
I  grant  that,  Christ,  upon  Thy  martyrdom 
(As  could  not  be  were  Thy  humanity 
But  Logos-mystery  and  nowise  man  — 
For,  lo!  the  gnosis  still  must  suffer  with  Thee!) 
Hang  all  the  Law  and  Prophets.   Yet,  should  men 
Continually  corrupt  as  with  a  crime 
Repeated,  what  supreme  of  holy  proof 
Anent  men's  long-lost  unity  with  God 
Thy  martyrdom  provided;  when  alone 
(I  speak  the  outward-doctrine  of  my  pain!) 
79 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Thy  pledge  of  earth-atonement  therein  given 
And  therein  erst  for  aye  offer'd  the  world 
Could  sanctify  the  stigma  of  the  crime; 
And  when  the  sacrifice  of  merely  men, 
Of  me  or  any  in  the  theatres, 
On  cross  or  reeking  in  the  city  streets 
Can  scarce  in  least  efface  the  hand's  disgrace 
That  drives  the  nail  or  strikes  the  lance-head  through? 
For  we,  O  Lord,  are  otherwise  than  Thou 
Despite  best  proofs  of  final  unity. 
For  we  are  fallen  by  prenatal  fault 
In  earlier  lives  and  are  not  as  Thou  art 
Freshly  if  still  eternally  from  God. 
Ay,  we  are  but  the  men  whom  Thou  didst  save. 
(For,  lo!  my  pain  would  numb  the  gnosis  quite 
And  leave  me  but  the  faith  of  youths  untaught, 
Who  many  years  was  big  with  wisdom  inward !) 
Though  faith  be  in  us  and  Thy  truth  reveal'd 
Of  Thy  part  ultimate  and  absolute 
Sufficing  for  the  cure  of  every  world, 
Yet  on  our  part,  save  for  the  fact  of  faith 
(Remaining  now  to  me,  though  gnosis  fail 
And  esoteric  dogma  for  my  pain!), 
Save  for  the  simplest  fact  of  some  belief 

80 


ORIGEN 

And  therefore  of  some  inference  of  Thee, 
Is  truth  as  diverse,  as  diversely-held 
As  there  be  men:  some  more,  some  less  in  faith 
Enlighten'd  by  Thy  love-life,  yet  the  wisest 
But  meaning  Godhead  as  by  symbol  spoken,  ' 
Not  by  immediacy:  nothing  known 
Of  ultimacy  save  the  fact  of  faith 
With  sense  of  tendency  toward  God  therethrough 
As  by  Thy  death  provided.  And  of  them 
Who  heard  not  of  Thee  but  desired  a  truth, 
Their  Sokrates  correctly  puts  it  plain 
How  all  is  of  opinion;  though  he  miss'd 
Well-nigh  the  saving  confidence  for  whom 
All  was  inquiry  with  no  last  reply. 
Whilst  some  there  be  (in  Alexandria  now 
Or  Rome  I  wot  not,  as  the  years  pass  on) 
New  pagan  teachers  who,  in  honest  search 
For  perfect  truth  though  failing  Christian  sight, 
Pretend  an  insight  by  an  ecstasy 
(Like  as  but  God  is  known  unto  Himself), 
A  standing  out  of  self  —  we  cannot  so! 
And  yet  in  them,  although  the  sign  and  proof 
Be  overlook'd  and  nothing  be  set  forth 
For  visioning,  there  were  the  saving  faith. 
81 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  thus,  that  all  we  feel  or  suffer  in  heart 
Or  know  of  others'  patience  still  must  be 
Mainly  an  evidence  of  saving  faith 
But  not  salvation,  not  the  perfect  proof 
Of  God-made-manhood,  what  were  then  the  worth 
Of  prosecutions  and  the  testifying 
By  blood  and  death  unto  the  truth  of  Thee; 
Which,  absolute  in  Thee,  must  yet  in  us 
Be  little  nobler  than  a  pagan  creed, 
Only  by  one  degree  beyond  a  truth 
Of  Platon  or  of  Zenon  or  of  this 
Plotinos:  if  but  this  Plotinos'  creed,  . 
Learning  a  content  in  the  fact  of  Thee, 
Might  learn  humility!  And  if  Thy  love 
Provides  a  revelation  absolute 
In  essence,  basic  to  a  gnosis-scheme 
Of  Logos-generation,  as  I  taught 
The  elder,  sturdier  of  inquiring  minds 
(Following  Philon  haply),  yet  the  truth 
Were  foster'd  not,  unless  I  reason  false, 
By  prosecutions  wherein  men  pretend 
Pagans  to  absolute  authority 
Which  in  Thine  own  example  stands  denied, 
Christians  to  sufferings  that  atone  the  world! 
82 


ORIGEN 

O  Christ,  in  this  my  suffering  I  pretend 
No  mundane  ministration  —  I  but  die; 
Or  live,  maybe,  in  sufferance  the  more! 

Yet  and  by  faith  there  is  the  certainty 

Which  needeth  not  the  gnosis,  to  be  mine! 

And  we  of  the  revelation  (as  I  wrote 

In  Christ  against  a  Celsus'  falsity) 

Are  rightly  fill'd  with  faith  as  are  not  those 

Who  base  truth  but  in  thought,  though  subtliest-cull'd 

As  Sokrates'  from  grist  of  many  minds 

Thrice-mix'd  and  mutual-sifted  —  woe  to  faith 

Were  Sokrates  the  Savior;  woe  to  truth 

Were  Christ  of  men  forgotten!  And  in  Christ 

We  hold  opinion  nearer  unto  God's 

By  sense  of  parable  than  any  man's 

Who  seeks  direct  in  ecstasy  to  take 

A  truth  devoid  of  earthly  inference. 

And,  ha!  why  might  not  such  sheer  certainty, 

Too  proud  to  confess  its  entity  for  Thine 

Chiefly  and  scarce  of  self  (as  I  in  that 

Internal-doctrine  of  the  Logos-scheme 

Had  claim'd  save  for  a  sane  half-consciousness 

Of  merit  in  the  pagan  argument 

83 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

So  like  to  mine  and  yet  so  unlike  still!), 

Why  might  not  such  a  sense  of  certainty 

With  hot-head  wrath  which  never  could  be  mine 

(O  Christ,  I  dare  a  dying,  dreadful  guess 

Of  future  things!)  within  Thy  name  and  God's 

Adopt  —  with  propagation  of  Thy  church 

As  the  Word  groweth  and  Thy  mustard-seed 

(I  speak  Thy  parable  for  timeless  things) 

Supplants  the  very  Empire  —  undertake 

A  persecution  of  the  elder  faiths, 

A  cruelty  upon  the  creeds  of  men 

Who  lack  but  light  of  Thee  to  love  with  us; 

And  blood-retaliation  quite  blot  out 

For  triumph  of  the  grim-eyed  demon-crew 

The  patience  now  of  dying  in  Thy  name? 

Nay,  why  might  not  the  growth  of  Christian  power 

(By  mine  own  exile  I  have  ta'en  the  sting 

Of  bishop's  scourge  for  virtue  of  a  truth 

So  singly-different  from  the  synod's  say!) 

Provoke  interpretations  of  Thy  tale 

Seemingly  wide  asunder  as  the  creeds, 

Then  lost  from  sight  and  lacking  for  a  foil, 

Of  pagan  now  from  Christian;  when  the  cry 

Of  blasphemy  anent  a  theme  beloved 


ORIGEN 

Augment  the  indignation;  and  the  wrath 
Of  men  be  roused  and  prosecutions  flare 
Church-wide  because,  forsooth,  Origenes 
Hath  difTer'd  subtly  from  Demetrios 
And  held,  't  would  seem,  two  doctrines  plausibly 
And  was  a  presbyter  in  Caesarea 
If  not  in  Alexandrian  schools  at  home? 
Anent  Origines  of  many  creeds 
His  faithfulness  or  falsity  to  Thee, 
Whether  his  martyrdom  were  in  Thy  name 
Or  in  the  name  of  Philon:  such  being  held 
Perchance  anathema  to  bishop-folk? 
And  blood  evoked  of  heresies  blot  out 
(My  thought  hath  grasp'd  the  worst  that  might  ensue 
Because  of  certainty  which  saveth  souls!) 
The  patience  of  us  dying  as  for  Christ?  - 
The  patience  of  us  dying:  that  is  best! 
A  testifying  to  the  truth  of  Thee 
Who  died  to  save  the  world;  that  thus  we  too 
(If  I  be  now  allow'd  to  die  for  Thee 
And  linger  not  beyond  my  ripening 
To  rot  in  Caesarea!)  thus  we  too 
By  symbol  and  by  parable  of  Thee 
Afford  a  content  to  the  certainty 

85 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  passion  of  renouncement,  without  wrath 

Exhibit  truth-salvation,  minister 

In  meekness  to  the  saving  as  of  souls 

(Whose  bodily  hands  drive  home  the  piercing  thrust 

Of  spear  and  sword  or  bruise  and  break  with  stone) 

Who  by  example  of  the  faith  in  us 

Better  than  prowess  brutal  of  the  mob 

May  turn  to  Thee  and  seek  by  these  my  wounds 

A  Godliest  of  opinions  which  may  yield  them 

Substance  for  seeming  ecstasy,  a  Word 

To  teach  Thy  parable  in  this  of  me! 

For  I  am  fain  to  die,  wounded  and  old 

In  Caesarea,  exiled  first  for  truth 

And  then  maltreated  by  the  mob,  a  man 

By  friend  degraded  and  by  foe  destroy'd  — 

Though  none  the  less  assured  that  in  such  wrongs 

For  men's  opinions'  sake  I  yet  may  feel 

Not  chaos  of  mis  judgment  but  at  heart 

Their  faith;  in  them  the  certainty  of  truth: 

And  yield  my  life's  opinion;  testifying. 


86 


JULIAN 

THE  re-establishment  of  truths  august 
And  worship  of  the  Gods  Olympian, 
The  family  imperial  of  the  skies 
As  they  are  children  of  the  Mighty  Mother 
Cybele  and  the  all-paternity 
Of  Mithra,  universal  fount  of  life: 
These  are  my  holy  purposes,  with  power 
Of  pure  authority,  from  Jove  derived 
And  nobly  in  my  blood  to  me  descended 
(By  lineage,  by  adoption  under  law 
Or  by  imperial  legions'  legal  choice 
Alike)  from  him  Augustus  the  divine  — 
That  primal,  perfect  instance  on  the  earth 
Of  God-Olympian  come  to  dwell  with  men! 
What  folly  to  adopt  unto  the  State 
A  rabble-hero,  Christos  of  the  mob 
For  tutelary;  who  at  best  might  be 
The  offspring  of  a  tribal  god,  Jew-born 
Though  traitor  unto  Jewry,  as  I  deem! 
What  folly  to  adopt  for  tutelary 
A  probable  impostor,  an  apostate 
(Never  was  I  with  willingness  baptized!) 
87 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  leader  of  sedition :  nowise  worth 

To  grace  a  Roman  triumph  of  the  East 

(I  look  for  triumph,  after  Persian  wars!); 

Not  fit  to  grace  a  triumph,  but  deserving 

The  felon's  death  he  died,  disgraced,  obscure! 

Alas !  how  could  the  imperial  State  be  safe 

If  built  on  weakness  and  obscurity 

When  every  Emperor  himself  must  stand 

Illustrious,  strong  and  in  a  father's  place 

And  power  for  the  governance  of  men? 

What  weakness,  if  what  tyranny  perchance, 

Hath  been  of  the  bearing  of  a  Constantine 

(Worse,  worse  of  mad  Constantius  murdering, 

Whose  faith  profess'd  of  peace  the  more  condemns 

him!)- 

Bearing  of  Constantine,  the  hypocrite, 
Who  sought  by  meek  adoption  of  the  mob's 
Rebellion  in  an  anarchy  to  soothe 
The  time's  distemper,  yet  drawing  tight  the  rein 
And  spurring  sharp  as  opportunity 
Encouraged  outrage!   (Doth  the  Christian  creed 
Make  moral  rulers?)   Though  I  well  believe 
He  little  reverenced  the  presbyters, 
The  bishops  with  their  quarrellings  accursed 

88 


JULIAN 

And  fatuous,  council-seal'd  anathemas 

Because  of  curious  heresies  forsooth 

Of  anomousian,  homoiousian  cants 

Confusing  the  claim'd  god-sprung  beggary 

By  every  borrow'd  Gnostic  quirk  of  talk! 

How  could  earth's  Imperator  truckle  so 

To  such-like  schisms,  ranting  sophistries, 

Themselves  without  approof  respectable 

Of  any  poet  or  philosopher 

Anywhere  taught  in  church  or  portico 

Their  deity  Hebraic  to  attest?  - 

Nay,  at  the  best  and  granting  Christos  half-god, 

What  culture  earn'd  he  of  the  schools;  what  art, 

Philosophy  or  nobler  poetry 

Bequeath'd  for  reminiscence?  Just  a  story, 

A  folk-tale  parabolic,  simply  said 

And  artless,  negligible,  save  it  bear 

An  hidden  burden  analogical 

Someway  seditious,  someway  blasphemous, 

Whereof  all  Christian  augurs  (be  there  such !) 

Make  tiresome  dispute  interpreting 

The  pitiful  oracle!  And  where,  I  pray  them 

(Some  glutton  daubings  I  at  least  have  seen 

Of  sheep  and  doves  and  fishes  and  a  feast!), 

89 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Where  are  the  sacred  statues  of  the  cult, 
The  evidences  of  a  gracious  presence, 
Austere  indeed  but  none  less  favorable, 
Auspicious  unto  him  who  knows  to  burn 
The  pious  oil  and  in  sacrifice 
To  draw  the  knife  athwart  the  victim's  throat? 
Here  have  I  placed  upon  my  palace-walls 
And  elevated  in  a  thousand  shrines 
The  statues  of  Olympian  deities, 
Mine  own  and  many  of  my  kingly  race; 
With  rescript  that  the  name  of  God  shall  be 
Zeus-Father  Mithra,  no  more  Jahveh-Son! 

And  one  thing  further,  ere  I  crown  success 
With  Persian  conquest,  I  shall  set  the  Jews 
To  building  up  anew  Jerusalem 
In  insult  to  the  Christians  utterly! 


90 


PELAGIUS 

HARK!  to  their  persecution  hounding  me 
From  fierce  and  schism-disrupted  Africa 
At  instance  of  Paulinus  to  the  feet 
Of  John,  good  bishop  of  Jerusalem; 
Where  this  Orosius,  pursuing  far, 
Hispanian  though  he  be,  in  Palestine 
Lifts  tongue  of  accusation:  heresy 
The  charge  which  I  must  face  (Celestius 
At  Carthage  was  condemn'd!)  even  here  where  Christ 
Faced  persecution  for  an  heresy ! 
Almost  I  do  believe  I  am  in  error, 
Holding  in  man  a  natural  righteousness; 
When  such  a  spectacle  four  hundred  years 
Hath  shown  of  derogation  from  the  first 
Inspired  acceptance  of  the  heart  and  help 
(Four  centuries  long,  since  Christ  in  the  Temple  taught !) 
Which  He  affords.   Some  sin-original 
Even  among  Christ-faith-professing  spirits 
(Prevailing  now  as  not  Christ-face  to  face) 
Must  hamper  the  Christ-purpose  in  the  soul 
If  back  to  persecution,  paganwise 
As  we  were  Diocletians,  savagery 

91 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  accusation  and  of  punishment 

Men  hark  as  though  they  all  a  Christ  would  kill  — 

Ay,  witness  the  fury  struck  and  took  between 

Their  Donatists  and  Augustinians, 

Too  inexcusable  of  either  part ! 

And  now  this  hounding,  as  a  dog  the  deer, 

Of  me  who  in  the  Holy  Land  of  Christ 

Turn  to  defend  me  at  the  feet  of  John! 

Yet  fairly,  in  my  turn!   I  need  not  yield 
To  falsity  but  that  their  ways  are  false. 
I  need  not  brand  the  heart  of  humankind 
For  all-unrighteous,  but  because  a  few 
Now  for  the  moment  have  their  fangs  in  me 
(Oh,  John  is  nobler  than  their  Augustine!). 
Grant  them,  their  hearts  are  hard,  lost  each  his  soul', 
Should  that  truth  touch  the  speculative  point, 
Destroy  my  doctrine  of  a  clean-will'd  choice, 
An  unpredestinate  and  native  grace 
Of  recognition  of  the  right-in-God; 
And  force  upon  the  thought  their  grace-of-God 
Imposed  upon  a  sin-original 
Which  (freely,  if  at  all !)  must  cleave  to  crime? 
What  beggary  of  reason  such  would  show 

92 


PELAGIUS 

Who  argue  of  our  freedom,  yea  or  nay, 
By  evidence  of  fault  in  me  or  them! 
For,  lo!  though  I  assert  the  will  were  free 
To  choose  God  or  reject  God  (holding  Christ 
Man's  best  example  of  the  Godhood-choice 
In  outward  life,  as  Christ  within  Himself 
Was  Godhead:  not  the  half-god  Arian  — 
Wherein  with  Athanasius  am  I  one), 
And  that  the  nobler  in  us  be  to  adopt 
The  right  and  true,  conforming  to  the  wish 
Of  God  Who  made  us  that  we  might  be  saved; 
Though  I  assert  men's  moral  dignity 
Of  voluntary  righteousness  in  God, 
Should  any  failure  here  or  there  of  men 
To  choose  God  evidence,  in  any  least, 
The  sad  compulsion  to  depravity 
(Proclaim'd  of  every  Augustinian  hound) 
Unless  God  interfere  by  ceaseless  grace 
To  bind  us  to  beatitude  unwon? 
Or  how  were  God  to  be  supposed  asleep 
And  negligent  of  the  furtherance  by  grace, 
Which  every  moment  mundanely  would  need, 
In  leaving  to  a  sole  historic  spark 
(The  flint-fire  sole-supposed  of  Christ- within)  — 
93 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

However  absolutely  infinite 
In  terms  of  God's,  not  man's,  eternity  — 
Men's  faith-upflaring  to  the  heat  of  truth; 
A  negligence  demonstrable,  I  ween, 
Insoforth  as  of  man  't  were  provable 
That  few  have  faith,  that  myriad  multitudes 
Lack  grace  and  are  unchosen  but  in  sin 
Live  ever  laxly;  pleading  sins  supposed 
Of  Adam  for  a  taint  inherited 
And  blame-exemption  by  the  lapse  of  God? 
How  bears  the  bad  example  either  way? 
Rather  should  that  within  the  mind  of  man 
His  impulse  to  discover  and  to  prove 
The  truth,  our  ever-struggling  upwardness 
Of  effort  to  achieve  and  aid  and  offer, 
In  this  life-education  given  of  God, 
Example  Christ-like  unto  all  men  else  — 
The  strength  and  sweetness  of  the  spirit  seeking 
And  finding  in  the  daily  tasks  of  earth 
The  way  of  earning  heaven  unslavishly, 
The  way  of  doing  well  by  conscience'  light, 
Refute  the  poor  predestinary  dream: 
Their  waiting  watchful  for  an  unsought  faith 
By  grace,  while  noway  working  day  by  day 
94 


PELAGIUS 

In  will,  in  zeal  toward  high  humanity 

Firm  in  the  following,  for  active  love, 

The  Christ-example  to  be  glad  and  free 

Upstanding  reverent  beneath  the  heaven 

Whence  God  hath  sight  of  hearts  and  hopeth  for  us! 

Whence  God  need  never  stoop  to  intervene 

And  thrust  the  thought  of  Christ  by  miracle 

(To  spoil  our  splendor  of  a  conscienced  soul!) 

Beneath  the  cravings  of  our  cowardice 

Who  crouch  and  pray  but  owe  no  self-respect 

To  make  us  worthy! 

I  will  have  respect 

For  man  as  also  for  the  manful  Christ. 
I  flee  no  farther  but  will  face  my  foes 
(Jerome  is  of  them  who  was  erst  my  friend) 
Not  bitterly;  but  strive  as  best  I  may 
To  wake  them  to  that  soul-nobility 
Which  all  men,  even  this  Orosius, 
By  dint  of  Adam-lineage  may  earn 
In  following  Christ-example,  Him  Who  faced 
The  persecutors  not  with  bitterness 
But  this  alone:  'They  know  not  what  they  do!'  — 
Face  accusation  with  an  heart  of  proof, 
Knowing  God  made  us  nobler  than  they  know! 

95 


CHARLEMAGNE 

I  LIKE  not  that  the  See  of  Rome  should  set 
Sudden  and  by  surprise  the  Empire's  crown 
Upon  me  as  I  worshipp'd  unaware ! 
It  was  not  as  with  Leo  I  arranged, 
That  he  should  so  assume  to  consecrate 
With  papal  benediction  power  and  place 
Which  I  by  birth  and  by  my  labors  added 
Have  earn'd  above  the  people  —  that  the  people 
Should  hail  me  Emperor  as  though  because 
A  Roman  bishop's  act  empurpled  me! 
T  is  nigh  intolerable!  We  had  agreed 
Election  by  the  Romans;  whereupon 
A  coronation  by  the  Pope  of  Rome 
Pursuant  to  mine  independent  right 
Of  power  equal  to  Irene's  power; 
Not  as  some  exarch  of  the  See  of  Rome! 
How  have  I  not  befriended  this  same  Leo 
As  Adrian  before  him  in  my  wars; 
Rescued  from  bodily  persecution,  purged  him 
From  accusations  of  adultery 
By  mere  acceptance  of  the  sinner's  oath! 
And  then  by  solemn  trick  to  be  surprised 
96 


CHARLEMAGNE 

Unto  reception  of  the  grant  assumed 
Where  lay  no  power  of  granting,  save  my  power 
Supported  and  sustained  in  every  deed 
This  pitiful  vicegerent  of  the  church! 
I  like  it  not.    I  almost  had  upsprung 
And  smote  him  down  for  his  impertinence; 
But  did  refrain  within  the  Sacred  House 
Before  the  people.   Yet  the  cunning  priest 
Deserved  the  blow.   For  by  my  complaisance 
Hath  not  he  fasten'd  on  the  Empire's  crown 
A  vassalage  to  Peter?  Shall  not  Popes 
Assume  and  shrilly  arrogate  to  heaven 
And  over  the  wide  earth  a  potency 
Temporal,  based  upon  the  paltry  game? 
A  temporal  king?  Not  he;  though  Constantine 
Half-gave,  no  doubt;  and  Pepin  liberally 
Gave  lands  in  vassalage!  Nay,  nay!  in  my  time 
Shall  he  be  vassal  for  the  Exarchate 
And  all  things  else  unto  the  Prankish  King; 
Still  vassal  merely  and  no  lord  in  least  — 
I  warrant  me,  long  as  my  life  endure! 
I  take  the  crown,  my  right.   The  Roman  people 
At  worst  elect  me  by  immediate  voice 
As  peer  to  any  blood-stain'd  Byzantine 
97 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  suzerain  of  exarchs  —  this  the  point 
Well  to  put  forth  in  public  lest  Irene, 
Bitter  at  failure  of  her  marriage-plan, 
Attempt  the  insult  of  according  me 
In  Italy  pretended  vassalage, 
Exarchal  office,  to  appease  her  priests! 
Yea,  Rome  and  I  must  threat  against  the  East 
A  common  front,  the  Latin  with  the  Frank, 
Whether  this  Leo's  heart  be  false  or  no ! 

Such,  such  for  indignation  at  the  dream 
(I  say  not  't  is  of  Leo  —  yet  —  I  doubt  me!) 
How  spiritual  power  upon  the  earth 
Can  of  itself  sustain  a  temporal  arm 
To  cope  with  sovereigns !  Such,  for  policy 
Preventing  rupture!  And  in  sooth  my  mind 
Knowing  the  power  of  spiritual  place 
When  terms,  beyond  the  tenure  of  this  life, 
Are  told  of  recompense  and  punishment, 
Ah,  anxious  to  show  repentance  ere  too  late 
For  certain  family  deeds  (nay,  not  the  crime 
Of  that  Irene!)  and  have  Popes  to  plead 
With  God  for  mercy  on  my  sinner's  soul  — 
My  mind  is  fill'd  with  piety,  with  zeal 
;98 


CHARLEMAGNE 

To  render  unto  God  a  good  account, 

Pleasing  to  Popes  sofar  as  possible, 

Of  this  my  Catholic  Empire.  The  Lombards 

Who  menaced  Peter's  very  primacy 

Have  fallen  before  me;  and  the  Saxon  hordes, 

Their  Irmensaiile  spoil'd  and  carried  away, 

Have  felt  the  sword  and  scourge  of  Gospel  strength, 

In  baptism  faith  confessing,  else  in  death 

Drinking  the  dregs  of  outlaw'd  heathenry! 

And  we  of  mine  own  kingdom  have  been  set 

To  honoring  God  by  ordering  our  ways 

In  law,  in  learning  and  in  righteousness. 

I  love  not  Popes.    But,  unlike  yon  Irene, 

Repent  and  pray  and  am  Christ's  champion, 

Protector,  propagator  of  the  Word! 


99 


ERIGENA 

BOETHIUS  hath  indeed  to  us  of  Rome 
(I  mean,  the  genus  of  the  Latin  Church 
And,  here  among  the  Franks,  our  clerkly  kind) 
Open'd  a  new  possession  spiritual 
In  strict  transference  from  the  tortuous  Greek 
Unto  the  simpler,  easier-understood 
Vernacular  of  the  Latin  hierarchy. 
Yet  and  that  learned  scholiast  gave  alone 
One  aspect  of  the  ancient,  pagan  thought: 
The  logic,  dialectic  organon 
Of  Aristotle,  him  the  Stagirite. 
T  is  true,  how  dialectic  enters  in 
To  every  utterance  of  the  blessed  lips 
Ambrose  and  Augustine  and  Gregory, 
Jerome,  the  glorious  fathers.   But  no  word 
Is  open  to  the  Church  of  any  such 
Who  in  the  Eastern  language  wrote  and  taught; 
Whether  the  blessed  fathers  or,  beyond 
The  circle  of  the  saints,  some  Origen 
Or  Alexandrian  of  Plotinus'  school, 
Who  seems  in  much,  if  not  in  Christ  reveal'd, 
To  speak  as  even  Augustine  hath  spoken 
TOO 


ERIGENA 

Of  Godhood  and  of  truths  intuitive. 
I  would,  the  whole  wide  world  could  read  as  I 
The  Oriental  tongue!  And  here  in  sooth 
Are  works  of  one,  the  Areopagite, 
Erstwhile  deliver'd  from  Byzantium's  king 
(I  mean  no  disrespect  —  an  Emperor!) 
As  gift  to  Louis,  him  whose  Palace  School 
Under  the  patronage  of  Charles,  the  young, 
I  teach  and  govern.   Surely,  too,  these  works 
Speak  much  of  unity  of  man  with  God  — 
To  the  misery  and  madness  of  our  times 
Sore  needed!  Like  the  sage  Boethius 
(He  died,  no  doubt,  for  too  great  honesty!) 
Will  I  unfearing  overset  the  Greek 
Unto  the  time's  vernacular  of  Rome; 
And  so  do  service  to  a  future  time. 

But,  whilst  I  serve  by  setting  forth  in  speech 
The  reasonings  of  an  old  authority, 
May  I  not  seem  to  yield  unto  the  times' 
Servility  of  mind  and  grant  with  men 
The  fond  supremacy  beyond  our  own 
Of  the  reasonings  of  the  fathers:  how  our  reason 
Should  follow,  imitate  but  step  by  step 
101 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

With  phrase  and  passage  out  of  every  book 
The  earlier  opinion;  that  our  mind 
Be  nought  unless  some  image  of  a  mind 
Long  dead  and  utter'd  unto  long-lost  years! 
With  reverence  I  say  that  Augustine, 
Though  dwelling  in  the  Scriptures,  gave  to  these 
New  meaning  by  the  glossae  of  his  soul, 
Not  slavishly  repeating  to  his  times 
A  truth  long-known  and  stagnant  but,  by  force 
Of  demonstration  in  a  new-born  light 
Anew  achieving  of  the  truth  of  God 
A  mundane  emanation.  And  shall  I 
But  copy  him  the  Areopagite 
Or  Augustine,  or  Ambrose,  Gregory 
With  what  of  scholarly  acumen  comes 
In  earnest  reverence;  or,  reverently 
Still,  of  the  substance  of  the  fathers'  truth 
(And  so,  of  God's)  allow  new  worlds  of  reason 
From  earlier  infinite  storages  to  flow 
And  self-illuminate  our  weariness? 
Why  rest  on  old  ensample,  when  within  me 
I  feel  fresh  insight,  sense  intuitive 
Of  Godhood  in  the  wilderness  of  world? 
For  was  not  reason  primal  in  all  things 
1 02 


ERIGENA 

(Quote  my  Magister,  my  Discipulus!), 
Prior  in  nature  to  authority 
Which,  though  transmitted  from  the  earliest  time 
Yet,  baseth  in  a  secondary  source, 
A  past  which  was  not  at  the  first  of  earth? 
And  say  not,  as  with  him  the  Stagirite 
Or  those  who  follow  him,  that  God  above 
Give  exhibition  of  authority 
By  primal  being  and  a  truth  reveal'd 
Wheretoward  our  nature  yearneth.   For  in  truth 
The  absolute  God,  being  utterly  o'er-all 
Without  division,  doth  not  of  Himself 
Ensample  set  and  sheer  authority 
But,  only  in  the  creature,  as  our  reason 
Being  emanation,  God  as  self-beknown, 
Exhibiteth  within  and  to  itself 
The  very  absolute  authority, 
The  Godhood  of  the  essence  of  the  man, 
With  Christhood  of  the  Father.  As  did  he 
Of  Hippo,  he  the  Areopagite, 
Plotinus  even,  even  Origen, 
Shall  I  in  governing  my  Palace  School 
At  all  cost  and  at  every  danger  dare 
Assert  the  ultimate  authority 
103 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  the  spirit  rational,  the  logos  in  us 

Still  world-establishing.    Boethius, 

Who  offer'd  to  the  Western  world  the  truths 

Of  ancient  dialectic,  none  the  less 

Despite  the  teachings  of  the  Stagirite, 

Declared  a  modern  and  a  Western  truth, 

The  present  comfort  of  philosophy 

For  guide  within  religion  unto  honor 

With  self-respect  and  yielding  not  to  pride: 

And  suffer'd  of  Theodoric  therefor. 

May  I  offend  not  and  be  longer  spared ! 

But,  come  what  may,  the  substance  of  our  God 

Reason,  and  ever  insight  logical  — 

Shall  I  declare:  for  that  my  mind  believes  ! 


104 


ABELARD 

AH,  every  day  and  every  hour,  dispute 
And  accusation,  nowhere  any  man 
To  friend  me  and  protect,  not  one  in  the  world, 
Save  pupils  powerless,  to  support  my  plea; 
Admirers,  yea;  but  none  to  lend  me  aid 
Through  year  on  year  of  direst  controversy: 
A  history  of  calamities  tenfold! 
Till  at  the  last  this  sentence  of  confinement 
For  teaching  truth!   But,  at  the  last  and  worst, 
This  sudden,  unexpected  refuge  offer'd 
(First  instance  of  protection  shown  in  life, 
First  kindness  to  the  oppress'd  from  any  man 
Whose  power  could  make  the  kindness  practical) 
In  Cluny  and  from  Peter!  Still  though  half 
Incarceration,  judgment  of  the  Pope, 
Yet  all  the  sting  and  shame  absolved  away; 
And  honorable  leisure  for  devotion, 
For  writing  (perchance,  for  teaching?)  granted  me, 
To  end  my  days  of  sorrow!  Ah,  the  spirit 
Breaks  down  within  me,  melts  as  ne'er  before 
With  this  new  sense  of  human  gratitude 
Calming  rebellion;  warm  humility 
105 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  meek  acceptance  taming  arrogance! 
I  wonder  at  this  Peter.   But  a  man 
Hath  mediated  'twixt  an  hostile  world 
And  Peter  Abelard.  The  guardian  name 
Hath  come  between  me  and  my  punishment 
With  intercession.  And  I  render  thanks: 
Thanks  to  the  Saint  and  thanks  to  him  of  Cluny; 
But,  save  a  few  with  powerless  goodwill, 
Heart-thanks  to  no-one  else  the  wide  world  through! 

Oh,  but  the  arrogance  yet,  yet  uprearing; 
The  sense  of  persecution  and  the  blame 
With  which  I  all  the  universe  upbraid 
Save  him  of  Cluny  and  the  favoring  Saint: 
Not  Christ,  not  Heloise  excused  at  heart 
From  some  misjudgment  —  oh,  the  blasphemy! 
When,  when  shall  I  be  soul-regenerate 
And  inly  humble;  then  to  see  my  life 
As  Christ  perchance  hath  seen  it,  or  as  Peter 
May  see  and  disapprove  and  yet  in  pity 
Move  him  of  Cluny  for  the  baptism's  sake 
To  ward  off  and  redeem  from  obloquy? 
And  Heloise?   I,  in  my  chastities 
Enforced  of  mutilation,  to  her  love 

1 06 


ABELARD 

Have  long  assumed  the  saintlier  arrogance 
Of  sham  asceticism;  when  my  lust 
It  was  which  brought  her  to  disgrace  and  dread! 
Not  hers  the  lust:  that  lamb  unto  the  wolf! 
And  hers  the  love,  who  out  of  all  mankind, 
Even  after  such  betrayal,  clove  to  me 
And  every  hour  of  these  long  sorrowful  years 
(Small  blame,  to  call  me  cold,  unsympathizing!), 
Hath  look'd  to  me  for  spirit-comfortings, 
Advice  and  admonition  momently 
In  every  rule,  in  every  utterance 
Of  counsel  sent  unto  her  fond  request. 
And  she,  her  woman-appetite  aroused 
(Hath  she  not  so,  with  dignity,  avow'd?) 
Once  and  for  aye  from  virgin  innocence, 
How  hath  she  borne  in  spirit  as  in  body 
To  bide  thus  faithful  to  her  pledge  in  God? 
I  tremble  now  before  such  purity! 
But  how  atone,  how  even  in  sooth  repent  me, 
Where  sense  of  men's  injustice  rankles  yet 
(Of  Bernard  his  untrain'd  impertinence, 
Who  argues  with  a  scholar  though  unschool'd) 
And  only  from  the  world  an  one  or  two, 
A  mistress-wife,  an  abbot-advocate, 
107 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Can  in  my  soul  command  my  soul's  respect? 
O  blessed  Peter,  I  was  born  to  strife, 
To  swift,  sharp  rancor  and  the  hard  retort; 
My  truth  a  proud  possession  and  my  love 
A  need  of  proud  possession  secretly! 
When  love  was  known,  discover'd  of  men's  eyes, 
Felt  I  indeed  some  pride  of  public  conquest, 
The  demonstration  of  my  powers  of  lust 
(Ah,  in  dispute,  the  public  power  of  reason 
Reflecteth  glory  on  the  disputant!), 
But  yet  a  chillness  to  love's  ecstacy, 
A  weariness  at  such  a  common  thing 
(Which  fain  were  private,  secret  treasure-trove) 
As  pass'd  from  tongue  to  tongue,  a  ten  day's  wonder! 
How  the  hot  joy  was  turn'd  to  ashen  fear 
For  shrewd  disgrace  and  the  contempt  of  men  — 
Confirm'd  in  the  conclusion:  treachery 
To  match  mine  own  and  violence  little  worse. 
And  then  the  long,  long  years  of  bitterness, 
Silent  rebuke  toward  her  whose  beauty  lured  me 
Unto  mine  own  destruction  and  whose  heart 
Was  burning-pure,  a  fiery-fine  rebuke 
Though  dumb,  a  blame  enduring  to  mine  own ! 
O  Heloise,  I  now  confess  in  Christ 

1 08 


ABELARD 

There  hath  not  been,  for  all  thy  mind's  revolt 

From  service  of  the  Saints,  a  sweeter  soul 

For  Mary  than  doth  rule  thy  Paraclete 

To  Christ's  best  glory.  And  my  claim  to  God 

Must  base  in  being,  through  thee,  the  human  means 

Of  showing  thus  the  splendor  of  a  faith: 

Even  if  the  faith,  so  shrined  in  heart-of-Eve, 

Be  more  to  me  directed  than  to  God 

And  therefore  pitiful  —  sith  I  am  I ! 

But,  save  by  faith,  I  cannot  help  thee  more. 

Farewell !  And  may  I  dwell  in  death  beside  thee, 

If  so  much  Cluny  friend  me  at  the  end! 

Now  and  to  true  repentance  of  the  mind 
Which  wants  renewal,  'neath  authority 
(As  hers  a  man's  authority  hath  craved) 
In  Cluny.  And  from  Peter  shall  I  find  it 
(As  she  hath  found  it  in  my  cold  advice) 
By  temperance  and  chastity  of  reason 
Learning  toward  other  minds  to  bear  respect 
Despite  misjudgment  and  impertinence. 
This  Bernard  may  be  better  than  his  zeal 
For  persecution  would  proclaim  of  him. 
For  mine  was  a  warfare  without  sense  within 

IOQ 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  any  wish  to  win  enduring  peace: 
Fear,  rather,  of  men's  agreement,  a  desire 
To  stand  alone  in  singularity 
Of  strange  opinion  and  to  base  belief 
In  demonstration  of  a  paradox; 
In  curst  citation  of  the  Sic  et  Nan, 
The  disagreement,  counter-statement  found 
In  writings  of  the  fathers,  ridding  thus 
The  thoughts  from  reverence,  whilst  within  the  heart 
The  goal  of  right  adjustment  was  no  more 
And  all  was  chaos  in  an  anarchy 
Of  self-assertion  —  which  could  ne'er  be  true; 
Because  denying  every  other's  truth 
Though  yet  the  very  man  were  measure  of  it, 
A  Bernard  even  as  an  Abelard ! 
And  God  were  nothing!   If  within  were  reason 
And  rightfulness  (I  never  did  deny 
The  Catholic  faith !)  yet  all  upon  the  tongue 
Was  arrogant  insistence  and  contempt 
Spoiling  the  message  or  the  fruit  of  peace. 
But  now,  the  new  protection  breaks  the  pride 
To  gratitude,  an  homage  unforeseen, 
A  tribute  of  the  conquer'd  character 
Too  unexpected  when  the  combat  raged 

1 10 


ABELARD 

And  every  man's  hand  was  against  mine  own. 

'T  is  somewhat  the  surprise  that  breaketh  through 

The  madness  of  a  life-time;  somewhat  also 

The  suddenness  of  release  from  bodily  fear 

When  fear  had  kept  me  cruel.   Right  or  wrong 

In  doctrine,  now  the  citadel  of  soul 

Hath  been  surprised  to  a  surrendering 

Of  strife,  and  by  a  generosity 

Disarm'd  where  persecution  had  but  steel'd 

To  bitterer  contention!  —  Heloise! 

From  him  of  Cluny  have  I  learn'd  the  way 

I  could  not  learn  of  thee;  though  thou  hast  taught  it, 

Thou  ever,  whilst  my  soul  was  blind  by  pride 

To  love  and  love's  true  lesson  in  thy  soul: 

Thou,  mistress  and  teacher  in  the  path  of  God! 


HI 


BERNARD  OF  CLAIRVAUX 

OH,  fearful  failure !   Everywhere  the  arms 
Of  Christ  defeated;  and  the  glorious  host 
Of  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  in  pitiful  flight 
Or  desperate  defence,  but  one  by  one, 
Thousands  by  thousands  'neath  the  infidel 
Destroy 'd;  till  only  sacrifice  remaineth 
In  lieu  of  all  the  splendors  prophecied! 
And,  under  God,  was  I,  the  meek  Bernard, 
High  priest  and  prophet  of  the  cataclysm! 
I  shrink  aghast  at  visions  of  dismay 
Brought  home  and  desolatingly  retold 
And  told  again,  with  curses  on  my  name, 
Of  them  who  hardily  escaped  and  sped 
Hitherward,  the  mad  wreckage  of  the  rout. 
I  fear  not  men's  reprisals.   Let  them  come: 
Some  crazed,  ecstatic,  devastated  soul 
Of  knight  or  man-at-arms,  to  tear  the  cross 
From  bosom  and  on  bloody  spear  impale 
Bernard  the  sad  impostor,  false,  forsworn! 
Ah,  Christ,  if  only  it  were  such  as  that, 
A  death  by  martyrdom  with  them  thus  shared! 
Scarce,  scarce  should  I  shrink  from  it.   For  to  see 
112 


BERNARD  OF  CLAIRVAUX 

Europe  appall'd  and  stripp'd  of  glittering  knights 
And  gleaming  soldiers  gone  to  wretched  graves 
By  rusty  tens  of  thousands,  through  my  fault: 
That  is  to  dwell,  O  God,  as  in  hell-fire 
On  earth  and  aye  anticipate  the  End! 
Yea,  't  is  the  spiritual  pain  which  easeth  not 
For  that  't  is  tongue  of  mine  upon  the  earth 
Hath  stung  men  to  this  havoc  wantonly! 
Where,  now,  the  sense  of  sustenance  by  Thee 
Provided  in  the  preaching:  outwardwise 
By  miracle,  by  conversion;  inwardwise 
By  truth-assurance  and  the  righteousness 
Of  rescuing  the  Christian  warrior-power 
Which,  bruised  and  batter'd  of  the  infidel, 
Threatened  collapse  —  as  come  upon  it  now? 
Where,  now,  the  human  confidence,  which  seem'd 
So  superhuman,  so  inspired  of  Thee? 
Lost,  lost  but  with  the  human  panoplies 
Of  power  and  purpose  to  effect  the  right; 
Gone  with  the  hope  of  victory!  —  O  God, 
Must  human  faith  be  brave  for  works  alone. 
For  outward  evidence  to  heat  the  hope; 
And  pale  to  skepticism  and  blasphemy 
Because  the  expected  earth-accomplishment 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Hath  somewise  else  and  in  another  sphere 
Perfected  prescience  of  Thy  Providence 
Than  in  the  pettier  plan  mine  hand  design'd? 

The  pettier  plan!   Merely  to  aid  a  power 

Grown  evil  as  the  veriest  infidel 

In  purlieus  of  the  worse-than-Moorish  stews 

Where  Prankish  Templar  or  a  Flemish  prince 

Oppress'd  and  pander'd,  with  disgrace  to  all 

Call'd  Christian,  in  Thy  land  of  sepulture? 

Merely  by  tumult  of  a  ribald  crowd 

(Their  sin-remission  crass-miscomprehended), 

Of  rough  and  roystering  men  and  women  lewd, 

To  aid  in  riveting  on  the  Holy  Town 

Of  Thy  nativity  an  iron  guile 

And  craft  and  lust  of  power  which  no  bright 

cross 

On  breast  or  armlet  could  redeem  in  men 
Unless  by  Thine  inscrutable  chastisement? 
Ah,  holy  in  petty  purpose  for  the  nonce 
By  exaltation  of  the  moment's  oath 
The  takers  of  the  Cross;  and  holier  now 
(Their  sin-remission  splendidly  achieved) 
Who,  sacrificed  unto  Thy  chastisement, 
114 


BERNARD  OF  CLAIRVAUX 

Lie  dead,  unburied  on  the  parching  sands 
Or  in  the  rocky  gorges  food  for  kites  — 
Of  these  the  bones  are  noble;  for  they  fell 
Obedient  to  the  larger  call  of  God 
Transcending  human  purpose:  and  are  saved! 
So,  of  the  many  miracles:  no  whit 
Dishonored  in  the  infinite  defeat 
Of  that  they  seem'd  to  guarantee  to  men! 
So,  of  the  preaching:  righteous  to  the  last, 
O  God,  that  I  discover  by  Thy  grace 
(And  firm  shall  preach)  the  infinite  chastisement 
Of  them  who  perish'd;  and  of  us  surviving 
Who  see  our  homeland  desolate,  our  knights 
And  men-at-arms  no  more,  and  every  hearth 
Mourning  a  vacancy!  Oh  —  should  there  come 
An  halt,  a  blind,  a  man  possess'd,  to  ask 
Anew  the  healing  miracle  —  with  faith 
Even  as  or  e'er  thine  awful  punishments, 
Shall  I  but  pray:  and  Thou  wilt  ope  the  eyes 
Or  cure  the  cripple  or  cast  out  the  fiend; 
That,  when  comes  knight-at-arms  to  hew  me 

down, 

The  miracle-achieved  shall  turn  his  soul! 
And,  with  me  openly  upon  his  knees, 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

That  cow'd  crusader,  humbled  utterly 
And  saved,  shall  pray  Thee  as  in  brotherhood 
Of  chastisement  accepted:  I  and  he 
Alike  rebuked,  alike  to  sight  restored. 


116 


FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

GOD'S  poor;  and  Jesus  Christ  the  chiefest  of  them, 

Supreme  in  service,  if  but  ill-equipp'd 

(Unless  in  Godship!)  so  to  minister; 

I,  little  friend  Francesco,  like  to  Christ 

In  poverty,  if  wanting  Godship  to  it! 

For  poverty  at  least,  that  power  is  mine: 

No  stone's-weight  of  an  impotency,  born 

(Mock-Damiano,  ever  to  be  built!) 

Of  the  need  of  self-protection :  burdensome, 

Or,  by  the  privilege  of  personal  stand 

Against  aggression,  arrogating  pride; 

No  vaunt  of  value  for  myself  to  hoard 

Of  world's  respect,  precluding  brotherhood 

With  very  lazar;  and  such  brotherhood 

By  love,  my  high  responsibility 

Unburdensome,  uplifting  every  wise! 

Could  one  but  love  world-riches,  then,  o'  sooth, 
Might  service  lie  with  such  in  squandering 
To  charitable  use;  as,  at  the  first, 
I  flung  the  proud  cloak  off  to  clothe  the  back 
Of  starving  valor!  Nay,  but  love  no  whit 
117 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

May  dwell  with  pride:  and  pride  is  property.  — 

Ah !  little  sisters  of  the  woods  and  fields, 

Sweet  flowers;  or  tiniest  songsters  unto  God, 

Ye  brother  birds!  with  ye  community 

Of  goods  and  heart  is  mine:  free  from  all  care 

Of  worldly  profit,  free  so  to  praise  Christ 

As  joy  and  blessed  beauty  in  ye  praise  Him; 

And  joy  in  me  (if  scarce  the  wonder-gift 

Of  beauty)  praiseth  ever  constantly. 

Lo!  here  in  the  forest-hermitage  I  harbor 

(Alvernia,  where  kindness  lets  me  lie) 

Like  bird  or  flower  by  the  dew  of  God 

And  bounty  of  the  heavenly  hand  of  Christ 

Meekly  sustain'd  at  table  of  the  poor, 

The  wild,  the  free  fraternity  of  joy. 

And  with  my  heart  and  tongue  I  'd  praise  the  Lord, 

Like  as  the  bird  or  blossom  praiseth  Him; 

I,  fain  to  make  laudation  now  aloud 

With  thanks  for  every  creature;  most  of  all, 

Perchance,  for  me  that  I  thus  may  ensoul 

Some  hours  of  contemplation,  whilst  the  body, 

My  soul's  dull,   plodding  bondman   (hands  and 

feet 

Scarified  and  world-weary),  take  that  rest 
118 


FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

Which  labor-long  infirmities  require 
Ere  once  again  to  labor  it  return. 

Ah !  pride  pervert,  maybe,  and  property 
This  rest  from  labor  in  a  private  joy! 
How  deem  me  poor  and  free  from  arrogance 
(How  deem  mine,  love?)  who  have  one  hour  mine  own 
For  contemplation  of  the  cure  of  Christ 
And  praises  creature-like  unto  His  name: 
When  cures  of  earth,  to  saving  of  men's  souls 
In  freedom  of  devotion  minist'ring, 
Are  calling,  calling  from  the  neighbor-plain 
Below  my  mountain,  calling  to  mine  heart 
For  saving  service,  as  to  Christ's  own  heart 
The  world  was  calling,  calling:  that  He  came? 
For  thus  this  love  in  me,  if  ne'er  in  Christ, 
This  very  love  when  sensed  unto  itself 
And  felt  for  spirit-privilege  (indeed 
As  never  in  Christ's  ministry!)  becomes 
Itself  a  source  of  arrogance,  a  pride 
And  property  which,  for  the  love  of  love, 
The  heart  must  squander  charitably  alway 
Or  leave  the  soul  in  contemplation  sunk 
Aloof  as  never  lay  the  life  of  Christ 

119 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Aloof  from  sympathy  of  hand,  of  feet 
Forever  walking  over  the  wide  world 
In  sacrificial  ministry  unshod.  — 
Ah,  woe!  then,  for  mine  order'd  Brotherhood 
Of  souls  too  rich  in  love  to  salve  that  love 
By  urgent  sympathy  of  hand,  of  feet 
In  missioning  unto  the  earth's  confines, 
Squander'd  to  lose  itself  sufficingly 
In  act,  in  motion-mendicant  (creating 
Of  other  men  alms  both  and  love)  or  labor 
Alms-giving  and  alms-given  to  the  need 
Of  nature,  frail  and  empty  save  of  need  — 
In  act,  nor  turn  upon  itself  within 
In  contemplation  privily  and  proud! 
Ah,  woe !  for  power  and  riches  spiritual 
(The  heritage  of  them  who  follow  me, 
By  my  default) ;  alas,  for  arrogance 
Sprung  of  a  human  love  that  finitely 
Must  turn  upon  itself  and  fail  to  spend 
Infinitely  in  service  and  be  poor! 
What  have  I  done,  who,  turning  hearts  to  love 
And  service,  have  evoked  within  the  soul 
Vainglory  of  such  service  and  the  pride 
Of  love-possession,  though  in  Christ  enjoy'd? 
120 


FRANCIS  OF  ASSISI 

The  Christly  crucifixion  (wounded  hands 

And  wounded  feet  world-ruptured),  caused  it  this? 

The  purpose  of  apotheosis,  through 

Theophany,  transfiguring,  but  wrought  it 

That  men  by  God-example  (infinitely 

Spending,  all-unpossessing)  should  be  prick'd 

To  pride  of  service,  wisdom  of  the  tongue 

In  praise  of  His  creation,  but  no  jot 

Impell'd  to  service  of  the  hands  and  feet 

In  self-unsaving,  perfect  poverty? 

Are  these:  these  marks  of  helplessness  in  man, 

Of  dream-tied  desuetude  of  hands  and  feet 

Self-suaging  (these  toil-blister'd  hands  and  feet 

Way-scarified  which  here  luxuriate 

Taking  their  ease  aloof  from  cures  of  men) : 

The  outcome  human  and  contemptible 

(If  anything  in  life  can  earn  contempt?) 

Of  those  world-wounded  but  unwearying 

Crucified  hands  and  feet,  mine  ecstasy 

Perceives  in  vision  through  the  forest-boughs 

Cross-like  and  quivering  with  an  heavenly  light, 

His  stigmata  of  utter  sacrifice? 

Down  from  my  mountain  to  the  humbler  plain 
121 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(Now  at  the  last  as  when  Christ  call'd  me  erst 

To  lifting  of  San  Damiano's  stones!) 

I  haste  me;  here  upon  my  feet  and  hands  — 

I  feel  them  for  spur  both  and  punishment  — 

The  marks  of  impotence,  the  stigmata 

Envision'd  of  Christ's  perfect  sacrifice. 

For  hands  and  feet  from  now  unto  the  end 

(Not  flower-like,  bird-like  —  though  perchance  they 

too 

Feel  care  and  failure?  —  nor  for  private  power 
Of  love-possession  but,  with  fault  avow'd 
Of  failure,  insufficiency  to  serve) 
Shall  serve  Him  as  at  table  of  the  Lord 
From  Whom  life  all  is  alms,  at  beggary 
Of  love,  for  love's  sake:  not  for  any  joy 
In  primal  brotherhood  with  bird  or  flower 
(Save  labor  unto  death  be  joy  and  praise 
Permitting  song  aloud  an  labor  cease  not?)  — 
Ah !  not  for  any  joy  with  bird  or  flower 
Of  little  friend  Francesco  praising  God. 


122 


FREDERICK  II,  HOHENSTAUFEN 

MAGNIFICENCE  almost  miraculous 
Of  promise  and  performance  I  command: 
I  by  a  word  redeeming  from  the  blame 
Of  Paynimry  this  Holy  Sepulchre 
And  these  waste  places  of  Jerusalem! 
Not  armies  nor  the  valor  of  Christendom 
In  decades  hath  accomplished  for  the  Cross 
What  sane  sagacity  and  temperate  zeal 
With  tact  of  reason  and  a  wise  respect 
Toward  honorable  enemies  have  wrought: 
I  treating  honorably  with  the  chief 
Of  Paynimry,  opponent  of  the  Cross 
No  doubt,  none  less  a  king  to  whom  respect 
Is  ever  due  from  Order's  champions 
Of  faith  and  of  right  dealing  in  the  world. 
King,  quotha,  unto  whom  respect  is  due 
Although  in  arms  against  the  Cause  of  Truth! 
King,  quotha,  how  much  more  to  whom  respect 
Had  been  accorded  had  his  cause  been  mine: 
As  Order's  champion  I  of  Cross  and  Truth! 
And  am  I  treated  with  respect  thus  due 
To  virtue  and  power  and  accomplishment 
123 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(A  virtue  firm  beyond  ascetic  shams, 
And  naturally  in  joyance  exercised!) 
In  service  of  the  Cross,  in  thereby  saving, 
Not  selfishly  the  soul  but,  for  mankind 
The  Sepulchre  and  sweet  Jerusalem 
From  infidel  defilement?  Or  am  I 
Reviled  as  outcast,  worse-than-Saracen, 
Because,  forsooth,  my  merits  make  alarm 
To  him  mischosen  Shepherd:  Roman  wolf 
Rapacious  over  Christendom  and  hateful 
Of  Christendom's  crusading  conqueror  now?  — 
Templars  and  Hospitalers  and  the  swarm 
Of  sycophants  pontifical,  avaunt! 
Leave  to  my  care  the  conquest  ye  but  hinder'd! 
Clutch  with  your  claws  no  crown  belonging  to  me 
By  right  of  royal  marriage  as  by  rule 
Of  personal  possession !   By  no  Pope 
Nor  Papal  hirelings  shall  I  be  debarred 
From  kingdom  won  by  king-sagacity. 
Ah,  nobler  Sultan,  rather  had  my  rights 
Drawn  warrant  and  support  from  thy  bared  sword 
In  honest  enmity  to  overcome 
Than  earn  establishment  from  Romish  troth 
In  bull  embodied!  —  Excommunicate 
124 


FREDERICK   II,   HOHENSTAUFEN 

(Scorning  the  priestly,  futile  interdict 

Which  would  rob  Christendom  of  all  I've  won!) 

I  glory  in  the  hatred  of  a  Priest! 

Kameel!  ah,  how  might  thou  and  I  allied 
Restore  world  all  to  order,  make  of  East 
And  West  conjoin'd  a  sanctuary  of  faith, 
Right  dealing  and  respect  where  such  is  due! 
What  matter  if  Mohammed  or  the  Pope 
Be  God's  vice-tyrant,  when  our  meeker  Christ 
Gives  unto  thee  or  me  alike,  I  ween, 
Leadership  in  a  soul's  nobility: 
Thy  teacher  second  only  unto  him 
Of  Mecca,  as  my  Second-unto-None ! 
How  were  the  world  revived,  if  under  us 
Jointly  and  severally  controlling  earth 
To  earth's  own  good  and  joyance  naturally 
Arose  a  new  religion,  vivified 
And  vivifying  by  the  soul's  release 
Both  from  this  internecine  strife  of  creeds 
And  from  the  incubus  of  priest  and  Pope! 
Now,  by  my  vow  to  serve  the  Christ's  true  Cross 
Unservile  of  the  Pharisee  of  Rome, 
What  duty  were  more  chivalrous  than  this 
125 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 
To  disestablish  tyrannies  of  soul 
And  set  a  loving  liberality 
Of  generous  sympathy  with  humankind 
Toward  every  human  enterprise  and  strength 
In  stead  of  priest  and  wolfly  parasite? 
By  mine  investiture  as  Knight-at-Arms 
And  by  this  crown  of  Christ's  Jerusalem 
My  high  inheritance,  shall  I  not  swear 
A  reign  of  brotherhood  and  beauty  born 
Of  practice  and  perfection  in  all  arts, 
All  ways  of  exquisite  urbanity, 
All  understandings  of  the  facts  and  laws 
Of  mystic  informations  yet  occult 
But  under  such  prospective  patronage 
Become  the  illuminating  discipline 
Of  many?   Like  justice,  shall  not  poesy 
(With  spells  and  power  over  spirits  of  Hell 
Learn'd  of  the  lyric  Semite)  be  for  boon 
And  birth-gift  of  men's  souls  beneath  my  sway, 
United  in  a  novel  Christendom 
Half-Saracenic,  half  of  ancient  cults 
(Hellenic  or  Mithraic,  Osirian!) 
Restored;  yet  wholly  in  the  love  of  Christ 
And  lore  of  His  inheritance  transform'd? 
126 


FREDERICK   II,   HOHENSTAUFEN 

Kameel!  ah,  could  thy  hand  but  crown  me  now, 
How  graciously  might  thou  and  I  achieve 
The  rebirth  of  the  luminance  of  soul 
In  disestablishment  of  him  of  Rome: 
Ascetic  dotard,  Caiaphas  two-faced, 
Frost-blight  upon  our  flower  of  chivalry! 

Wolf-blight,  alas!  upon  the  Christly  fold, 
With  age-worn  fangs  still  fasten'd  in  our  flesh! 
Why  waste  I  hours  of  proselyting  here 
In  Palestine:  a  land  which  well  might  lie 
Smiling  beneath  the  Paynim  scimitar 
For  aught  concerning  Europe;  and  which  best 
Might  serve  for  stimulus  of  intercourse 
Twixt  Saracen  and  Christian  humanizing 
World-civilization,  were  our  arms  withdrawn? 
Why  waste  I  here  the  hours  Gregorius 
Doubtless  improves  to  poison  hearts  at  home 
Against  mine  orthodoxy,  to  impugn 
My  fair  faith  and  incite  a  treason  in  them? 
Why  waste  I  for  this  bauble  of  a  crown 
(Or  publicly  to  prove  my  Christianhood 
Forsooth !)  such  moons  as  may  from  all  my  stars 
Withdraw  beneficence;  whilst  he  of  Rome 
127 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

With  subtlest  machinations  undermines 

My  power  of  empire  and  ascendancy 

At  home?   Kameel,  ah,  never  can  my  home 

Be  far  from  Sicily;  nor  heart  of  mine 

Forget  the  boreal  burg  that  bore  my  race! 

Let  generosity  relinquish  here 

The  conquest,  for  thy  hand  to  seize  again 

The  governance  which  thy  straightforward  faith 

Hath  shown  thy  due  —  ay,  only  with  the  crown 

When  once  I  have  been  king'd  by  mine  own  hand. 

For  then  to  Rome,  to  Rome  (these  mistresses 

May  follow  whom  Kameel  hath  promised  me) ; 

To  Rome,  and  crush  to  earth  with  iron  heel 

The  serpent  of  the  Papacy !  To  Rome, 

Ruin  and  devastation  in  my  train! 

That  from  my  throne  secure  I  lean  at  last 

The  hand  of  brotherhood  to  thee,  Kameel; 

And  Christian  fellowship;  establishing 

Peace  and  the  power  of  the  mind  of  man 

Athwart  all  seas;  and  joyous  chivalry, 

The  rule  of  love,  true  service  of  the  Cross! 


128 


VILLON 

'A  VAGABOND'?  —  You  good  Samaritan! 
Peace  to  your  fears  of  personal  compromise! 
No  Provost  nor  no  gibbet  will  hang  you ! 
You  catch  no  foul  infection  of  the  plague 
On  fur  and  velvet,  ay,  and  glittering  chain 
(The  jewel  likes  me;  but,  hands  off,  I  say!) 
Helping  me  here  to  bread  and  wine  for  once 
A  bellyful;  no  vagabondage  smirching 
Your  stiff,  respectable,  rich  smile  and  style, 
Unsmirchable  by  rags  and  tags  of  mine! 
Sir,  that  you  seem  to  fear  contagion,  shrink 
From  contact  with  the  soul  you  stoop  to  save 
(Just  lifted  from  the  oubliette  of  Meung 
By  grace  of  Louis  whom  the  Saints  preserve!) 
Puts  me  in  mind  to  make  demand  what  show, 
What  substance  in  this  soul  of  mine  you'd  save 
Or  rat-bit  carcass  that  contains  my  soul 
First  proved  effectual  in  appeal ;  what  folly, 
Freak,  rant  and  posture  of  the  vagabond, 
The  tavern-ruffler  and  the  loose-of-life 
Fresh  from  an  unjust  Churchman's  dungeoning, 
Drew  dignity  so  to  stoop  to-purpose,  lift 
129 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  lave  and  lay  'mid  dignified  disdains 
Raggedness  and  this  outcast  of  the  ways? 
Friend  Charles  of  Orleans  cared  not  as  much 
For  the  better  brother-rhymester  he  well  knew! 

Was  it  some  sense  that  raggedness  hath  rights 
Of  raggedness,  a  claim  to  the  world's  regard, 
In  person  of  the  mercer  prosperous, 
For  its  custom  of  abhorring  custom,  style 
Of  no-style,  stiff  decorum  (call  it  so) 
Of  rough  contempt  for  your  decorum's  lore? 
Now  must  the  plain  corroboration,  proof 
That  vagabondage  but  accepts  for  due 
Merit  of  vagabondage  your  main  zeal 
In  sanctifying,  lifting,  stiffening  me; 
Now  must  this  recognition  how  your  guess 
(Your  jest?)  proves  intuition  and  I  show  you 
No  spark  of  gratitude  toward  grave  reform : 
Must  such  fulfilment  turn  your  love  to  loathing, 
Sour  your  pity  to  this  pitiful  fear 
Of  soul-contamination  (did  I  say 
The  fear  of  the  public  executioner? 
Far  be  the  insinuation!)  that  you  judge 
(Ah!  pardon  the  harping  on  the  hangman  word!) 
130 


VILLON 

Your  act  no  kind  cure  of  a  crusted  soul 

But  a  succoring  of  the  hardened  gallows-rogue 

Quite  inappropriate  to  the  pledge  you  hold 

(A  vow,  mayhap,  for  some  sin?  Oh!  my  master, 

I  mean  no  crime  beyond  a  trick  of  trade 

Strictly  absolved  by  sharing  of  the  spoil!) 

Of  Christian  charity  toward  —  scarce  toward  me 

Who,  hard  of  heart  as  hard  of  head,  laugh  back 

Your  platitudes  preach'd  by  the  Prior,  no  doubt 

(I  heard  them  at  the  University, 

A  pest  on't!)  back  upon  the  hide-bound  brain 

Of  you  who  not  once  dream'd  there  might  be  souls 

That  chose  to  sin  because  the  sin  rings  true 

And  makes  a  brawler's  ballad;  chose  and  choose 

To  follow  a  glint,  such  as  the  glint  may  be, 

To  the  bitterness,  the  brilliance,  of  the  dust? 

I  have  an  absolute  pardon,  sir,  fire-new; 

And  fear  not  Informations!  Let  me  talk 

In  lieu  of  silence  these  so  many  months. 

Tabary  swung  for  too  much  talk;  not  I, 

With  kind  King  Louis  in  my  wallet  here. 

(Unless?  Unless?  The  girdle  likes  me  much!) 

We  part,  then?  Yet,  in  thanking  you  for  succor 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Such  as  my  need  imperative  demands, 
Purseful  and  bellyful  and  brain  stuffd  full 
With  pictures  of  the  Paradise  you  paint 
(I'll  put  it  in  a  rondel  overnight!) 
For  foil  against  the  Hell  I  choose  to  choose; 
Yet,  in  acknowledging  my  boon  of  you  — 
I  pray  you,  master,  seriously  for  now!  — 
I  acquiesce  in  no  disparagement 
Personal  of  the  beggar  that  I  am: 
Who  beg  from  the  rich  to  give  to  the  poor  (glib  cant 
Is  parcel  of  mine  impertinence!)  my  friend, 
Who  take  of  you  by  power  of  abject  need. 
For  with  the  satisfaction  of  the  need 
Goes  no  confession  of  the  need's  disgrace! 
Sir,  what  were  your  vain  wealth  and  self-resource, 
Even  to  the  sham  soul  of  a  prosperous  man 
Bound  in  a  vow  —  ay,  by  such  very  test !  — 
But  for  the  vagabondage  you  abhor, 
Prescription,  intercession,  to  your  sins; 
By  field  for  penance  or  by  charity 
Best  justifying  riches  and  world-ease? 
I  'm  the  arch-scapegoat.  For  't  is  a  life  like  mine, 
Life  for  life's  sake,  no  vulgar  gain  in  view, 
That  yields  you  well-behaved  and  prudent  men 
132 


VILLON 

Prosperity  of  body  as  of  soul, 
Power  in  both  sorts,  through  emptiness  for  me. 
And  now:  I  have  not  made  my  way  in  the  world  - 
I  put  a  euphemism  as  would  Charles, 
Though  with  mine  own  mad  irony  beneath! 
So,  because  wealth  has  stoop'd  to  succor  me, 
1  was  supposed  to  wake  at  last  to  the  worth 
Of  custom  and  convention  in  the  world 
And  this  the  enviable  that  goes  therewith; 
Avow  mine  error,  mend;  and  make  my  ways 
Your  ways,  outstrip  remorse  by  some  reform, 
Accept  gratuity  through  zeal  to  earn 
Position,  independence;  fain  to  pay 
Gratuity  back  and  quit  the  claim?  Nowise! 
I  grasp  gratuity  for  greed's  own  right 
An  you  will :  nay,  rather,  for  your  soul-need  of  gift, 
Need  of  the  unreturning  charity; 
The  worth  of  ingratitude,  and  grandest  gain 
By  the  gift  of  good  regardless  of  good  end 
(Unless  in  salving  of  your  private  sin!) 
Succoring  raggedness  for  succor's  sake 
And  the  right  of  vagabondage  to  go  free. 
Sir  —  for  hyperbole!  —  't  is  you  who  shrink 
Aside  through  byeways  from  the  walk  of  the  world 

133 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Even  in  your  'broider'd  costume  of  world-style: 
You  laboring  ever  for  an  end  in  view 
Beyond  work;  rest  and  recompense  and  power: 
Ay,  in  this  world  or  in  a  next,  a  goal ! 
You  in  your  servile  goal-dependence  spurn 
The  world's  real  way  of  life  for  life's  sole  sake 
(And  at  the  last  some  mocking  testament ! ) 
Life  asking  no  reward,  but  just  the  commune 
In  brotherhood  of  all  else  who  live  thus 
Above  the  fear  of  failure,  quite  beyond 
Your  personal  compromise  though  bishops  starve 
And  provosts  hang  me  for  the  cure  of  crime! 
'T  is  your  soul  starves  the  soul  in  me  despite 
Alms;  for  your  charity  yet  shames  the  soul. 
Ay,  't  is  because  of  you  who'd  work  for  ends, 
For  purposes  and  prospects,  that  I  fail 
Rescue  the  world  and  need  your  rescuing! 
Sir,  did  the  whole  world,  Paris  here  and  Blois 
Where  Charles  lies  in  his  dotage,  rotten-ripe, 
And  Meung  with  its  good  bishop  —  curse  him! 

dwell 

As  I  have  dwelt  in  wide  community 
Giving  and  taking  as  I  give  and  take: 
Because,  by  yielding  gift  of  all  we  have, 

134 


VILLON 

A  ballad  or  a  rondel  it  may  be, 
Deserve  we  limitless  bounty,  benison: 
Then  were  the  wisdom  of  the  ways  of  you 
No  wisdom;  stigma  of  the  vagabond 
Your  due;  and  vagabondage  recognised 
Wisdom,  the  moral  and  the  strict  and  right, 
Sanction'd  and  custom'd  through  new  peace  on  earth, 
Needing  no  gibbets;  nor  no  charity! 

Nay,  master,  for  the  succoring  have  thanks; 
Not  thanks  as  for  obligation  due  the  great 
From  humble  vagabondage,  yet  for  grant 
Of  opportunity  to  loose  my  tongue 
Long-used  to  dungeon-silence !  Ah,  one's  creed 
Needs  stating  sometimes  in  a  forthright  prose 
To  rob  the  rats  of  breakfast  and  exalt 
The  beggar  a  little  above  his  bread!  I  go 
Ranting,  profaning  —  if  you  call  it  still 
A  blasphemy,  what  care  I?  Write  me  down 
For  the  Provost's  galaxy  of  cunning  scamps 
(In  faith,  the  Provost  knows  me  very  well! 
And  by  more  names  than  one  the  pardons  read 
Of  blest  King  Louis  whom  the  Saints  uphold!) 
This  scamp  a  cunningest;  who  hoodwink  once, 

135 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Never  again  so  long  as  wrath  endure !  — 
'Heretic?  'Platonist  fellow'?  You'd  retract 
Half  your  donation?  Take  it,  in  despite 
Of  the  truth  of  this  I  've  just  exhorted  you 
Of  the  utter  thanklessness  of  poethood ! 
What?  No  resentment?  I  will  keep  the  gift; 
Count  so  much  toward  the  cure  of  your  kind  soul, 
Respectable,  prosperous,  but  none  the  less 
Samaritan  toward  graceless  vagabonds! 
My  duty  to  the  Provost  when  you  meet !  — 
Nay,  by  your  leave,  the  chain  and  jewel  too! 


CHARLES  V 

OH,  vast,  imperial  and  vain  regret 
Wherewith  am  I  tormented;  this  mine  office 
(Whose  woes  and  burdens  would  I  fain  put  off 
For  sack-cloth  of  the  cloister  of  the  soul) 
Distracted  with  the  mad,  rebellious  wars, 
The  heresies  internecine  sprung  of  him 
With  whom,  when  at  the  Diet  sore  blaspheming 
Him  held  I  in  my  doom-pronouncing  power, 
I  kept  a  pledge,  an  oath  misfortunate 
Of  too  secure  return  unto  his  friends; 
A  pledge  miskept  with  heretics,  an  error 
Which  very  faith  and  truth  from  out  the  earth 
(Unless  God  by  new  servants  intervene) 
May  some  day  drive  and  utterly  destroy: 
Witness  the  shameful  tolerance  decreed 
To  which  I  yield  consent  in  sad  defeat ! 
Ah,  woe!  that  I,  by  private  troth  compell'd, 
A  fancied  individual  honor  bound, 
As  Emperor  with  God's  great  world  in  charge 
Thus  falsely  and  thus  faithless  to  my  trust 
Bare  sanctity  of  a  fealty  but  human 
Above  the  duty  and  service  owed  to  God ! 
137 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

'T  is  this  which  drives  me  now  to  my  despair 

And  proves  me  fit  but  unto  abdication 

(Though  still  be  many  a  task  to  undertake  — 

First,  first  to  drive  the  French  from  ravished  Metz!), 

Acknowledging  by  penance  in  abasement 

The  ever-cumulating  consequence 

In  spiritual  pestilence,  alas! 

Born  of  my  soul's  infection  when  I  proudly, 

Mistakenly  to  privilege  of  reason 

Clove  in  a  knightly,  upright  honestness 

Forsooth  as  my  misguided  judgment  held; 

Though  God's  imperial  obligation  urged  me 

(And  many  a  secret,  sacred  hint  from  Rome!) 

Unto  the  perjury  for  Christ's  faith's  sake! 

Ah,  thus  the  Holy  Father's  legates  prove  it 

With  closet-exhortation  hour  by  hour 

My  fault  indubitable;  whilst,  too  late,  \ 

I  can  but  now  resolve  my  soul  to  save, 

Sobeit  possible  to  the  steward  fruitless, 

In  cloister'd  meditation  to  the  end 

That  earth  shall  shake  under  a  surer  sway! 

How  miserable  the  frowardness  of  man! 
How  pitiable,  were  it  not  so  base, 


CHARLES  V 

Mine  insolent  self-reliance,  when  the  world 
Had  sudden  need  of  new  obedience, 
The  Christian  need  of  crime  unquestioning 
When  by  the  Church  commanded !   I  was  born 
Heritor  of  a  thousand  hard-won  years 
Wherein  the  individual  sanctity 
Of  personal  oath  (for  all  the  cunning  tongue 
Of  Machiavelli  with  the  serpent-craft!) 
Had  for  a  bond  of  troth  'twixt  man  and  man 
Securely  been  establish'd;  that  my  soul 
With  sense  of  high-achieving  chivalry 
(No  fealty  absolving  them  beneath  me 
From  knightly  dealing  with  the  least  below!) 
Was  nurtured  and  sustain'd  within  a  world 
Where  honor  only,  save  a  saving  creed, 
Seem'd  worthy  of  a  kingly  character 
Too  often  forced  by  circumstance  untoward 
To  tyrannies  still  honorably  plann'd. 
And  into  such  a  world  was  I  indeed 
Born  to  an  universal  heritage 
Of  power  well-nigh  imperial;  then,  by  gift 
Of  God's  grace  and  the  election  crown'd  o'er-all 
With  absolute  opportunity  to  rule 
And  guard  the  world  unto  the  glory  of  Christ; 
139 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

And  absolute  responsibility 
In  temporal  things,  the  comings  and  the  goings, 
The  words  and  deeds  (so  be  they  honorable) 
For  king-command  subjected  to  my  will: 
My  wish,  the  heir-adopted  gerentwise 
For  overt  will  of  God;  and  at  my  hand 
The  Holy  Father  to  pronounce  of  well 
Or  ill  within  our  body  spiritual! 
What  outlook  had  been  nobler,  wiselier  plann'd 
To  make  of  man,  of  me  the  Imperial  King, 
Paragon  of  a  splendor  rightly  ruling 
Each  rising  and  each  setting  'neath  the  sun? 
What  heed,  the  hates  of  Francis  or  his  warfares? 
What  heed,  the  machinations  many  a  time 
Of  England  or  the  Paynim  at  the  gates 
To  fend,  when  with  an  all-imperial  statehood 
And  principalities  earth-numberless 
Was  I  for  praise  and  blame  ripely  endow' d 
A  steward  to  an  heavenly  mastership? 
Yet  was  I  froward,  too  man-blind  to  see 
And  so  accept  the  honor-withering  flame 
Of  Christ's  new  dispensation  as  it  leap'd 
A  lightning-tongue  to  my  new  age  on  earth; 
I  was  too  knightly-proud  (a  Sigismund 
140 


CHARLES  V 

With  that  Bohemian  who  came  to  nought 
Did  better  in  his  bitter  perjury!), 
I  was  too  prince-upright  alway  to  allow 
Within  the  fox-skin  of  a  Romish  priest 
The  real,  infallible  holy-fatherhood 
Whose  guidance  were  unerring.   Stood  I  forth 
Against  desires  of  Clement,  sack'd  his  Rome 
With  soldiers  of  the  brood  of  Wittenberg 
And  flung  in  prison  his  person  sacrosanct 
(In  sin  begot  and  crown'd  in  simony!) 
Or  kept  faith  with  a  traitor  to  Christ's  church: 
The  same  inestimable  error  made; 
The  pride  of  individual  kinglihood, 
The  knight-on-oath,  the  manhood-chivalry 
Merely  —  when  every  tittle  of  human  judgment, 
Of  self-reliance  'gainst  authority, 
Had  rightly  in  God's  vice-gerent  drown'd  away 
To  rise  above  the  flood  of  dim  opinion 
(With  fear  of  the  shame  of  blushful  Sigismund!) 
And  maelstrom  of  the  privy  conscience-gleam 
To  firmament  and  white,  unfaltering  light 
Of  Christ-resolved  perplexity,  by  rescript 
Indicted  of  the  Pope-authority 
For  sign  of  the  new-born  epoch  upon  earth 
141 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(Obedience  now  in  lieu  of  kinglihood) 
Releasing,  overriding  the  mere  troth-plight 
Of  earthly  knight  and  mundane  Emperor! 

0  monk  of  Wittenberg,  whose  arms  but  now, 
Despite  mine  honor-prizing  ail-too  dear, 
Drove  me  from  Innsbruck  to  a  foul  disgrace, 
How  have  I  taken  thy  part;  in  holding  back 
The  clouds  of  omen'd  priest-craft-tyranny 
(So  useful  too  in  mine  estates  of  Spain !) 
Brought  down  the  deluge  of  a  civil  strife 

With  victory  to  thy  crime!  Though  thou  be  dead 
Too  late  to  stay  the  damage  of  thy  daring, 
Hearest  thou  not  in  Hell  (where  I  soon  with  thee 
May  for  my  fatal  f rowardhood  aye  anguish !) 
The  tramp  of  thy  fiend-legions,  I  first  loosed 
When  for  the  right  of  conscience  of  a  king 

1  kept  against  a  Pope's  divine  desire 

Mere  oath  and  honor?   I  my  soul  had  saved 
From  everlasting  torment;  I  the  earth 
Preserved  from  everlasting  sacrilege 
(May  God  through  His  new  heirs  yet  intervene: 
My  deep,  dread,  heartless  son,  my  brother  mighty!) 
Had  I  example  set  of  absolute  faith, 

142 


CHARLES  V 

Endured  disgrace,  the  private  perjury 

Of  burning  thee  in  life  as  now  thou  burnest; 

And  sacrificed  my  temporal  fame  to  God: 

The  dedication  (which  the  times  demand 

In  their  new  culture  of  a  tyranny 

To  match  rebellion)  which  I  felt  too  dear 

Till  now  in  vain !  O  monk  of  Wittenberg, 

Whose  Hellish  power  perchance  bewitch'd  my  spirit, 

A  king  even  and  an  heart  imperial 

Hath  acted  as  by  conscience-fealty, 

Thy  motive  in  rebellion;  and  must  feel 

(For  honor  lieth  in  God's  authority!) 

How  miserable  the  vast  regrets  of  men! 


BACH 

AN  earnest  piety  preventeth  me 
(Dear  God!  but  there  are  moments  of  despair, 
As  hours  of  exaltation  verily!)  — 
An  earnest  piety  preventeth  me, 
If  I  may  meekly  boast  a  grace  of  Christ, 
From  trivial  petulance.  The  patronage 
Of  my  respected  prince  enableth  him 
Who  serveth  loyally  the  churchly  muse 
To  labor  without  fear  of  too  strict  want 
In  effort  toward  the  heights;  undestitute 
Yielding  his  tongue  to  utterance  sublime, 
So  much  as  may  be  in  the  depths  of  him 
Half-inarticulate,  without  dismay. 
And  can  the  servant  of  a  favoring  prince, 
Afforded  with  the  daily  provenance 
For  family  provision  and  the  fees 
From  funeral  performance,  crave  of  right 
Anything  further  —  maintenance,  reward 
Or  recognition?  For,  behold!  I  brood 
Not  quite  in  irony  but  realizing, 
If  scarce  with  snug  complacence,  gratefully 
Indeed  mine  ease  of  fortune  by  God's  help 
144 


BACH 

Assisting  mine  ambition  to  speak  amply 
The  music  in  me  for  acknowledgment 
Of  heaven's  favor!  Shall  not  daily  dole 
Suffice,  with  something  of  a  shrewd  respect 
From  all  less  courtly  folk,  to  crown  the  Court's 
Composer  and  Precentor  of  the  School? 
'T  is  true  that  of  the  Bachs  mine  own  success 
Is  somewhat  over  average;  that  my  name 
(In  shame  I  smile,  the  fact  perforce  avowing!) 
Is  gradually  growing,  sure  I  see, 
More  widely  known  than  any  of  my  kin; 
Even  as,  maybe,  my  music  richlier  moveth  • 
Than  music  hitherto  in  homelier  days 
Composed,  perform'd  of  my  Thuringian  clan.' 
And  is  not  this  enough  of  outward  show; 
And  comparable  quite  to  my  deserts, 
Sufficing  to  permit  the  spirit  to  sing 
Who  in  herself  cares  nothing  for  these  things 
Save  as  the  bodily  life  hath  need  of  them? 
Mine  organ  and  my  clavichord  apart 
Can  take  in  idler  hours  from  mine  hand 
The  meaning  of  mine  heart  which  moveth  me 
So  much,  so  almost  unaccountably 
With  seeming-holy  fervor;  and  in  my  work 
145 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Which  busies  me  by  grant  of  God  and  man, 
God  giveth  satisfaction.  Then,  what  more? 

It  is  not  that  the  pettier  jealousies 
Of  consistory  or  of  scholars  clash 
Too  much  with  inspiration  (an  we  call 
My  yearning  to  compose  in  piety 
Church-themes  an  inspiration?)  nor  the  cares 
Of  many,  many  mouths  given  mine  hearth 
For  succor  and  support  (my  wife  here  yieldeth 
Help  meet  unto  the  need)  cling  me  too  close 
For  freedom.  These  are  things  of  human  hate 
And  human  love,  the  common  privilege 
Or  burden,  it  may  be,  of  all  mankind 
Each  man  in  sort;  which,  though  they  move  me 

not 

To  wrath  nor  wantonness,  yet  endlessly, 
As  I  must  feel  in  mine  especial  part 
And  privacy  of  pure  musicianhood, 
Contribute  to  a  reverential  zeal 
In  service  of  a  Love  by  sacrifice 
Triumphant  over  Hate:  a  service  couch'd 
In  sequent-harmonies  canonical; 
Each  tone,  in  yielding  place,  affording  proof 
146 


BACH 

Of  purport  consonant,  although  diverse; 

And  thereby  passion  pictured  without  pain 

Of  self-reluctance  in  the  yielding  note; 

And  thus  a  symbol  of  the  art  I  'd  owe, 

Its  very  image  and  presentment,  given 

For  stimulus  within  the  daily  round 

Which  else  had  been,  or  fain  had  seem'd,  at 

surd 

To  mute  mine  utterance  in  soul's  despite. 
That,  though  I  picture  Passion,  no  complaint 
(More  than  in  Christ  was  personal  complaint 
Though  all  in  victory  was  yielded  up !) 
Of  petty  cark,  responsibility 
Nor  any  sort  of  hindrance,  can  arise 
Within  my  spirit  whose  natural  pietism 
(I  mean  not  any  creed  unorthodox!) 
By  grace  of  God  as  I  may  meekly  claim  . 
Preventeth,  as  I  've  said,  all  petulance 
Or  derogation  from  humility; 
Whate'er  the  artist-irony,  despair 
Or  exaltation  which  may  dwell  therewith. 
Yet  sometimes  are  there  stirrings  (very  Christ 
Appeal'd  unto  the  Father!)  —  might  not  God 
Achieve  through  music  something  of  a  truth, 
147 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Some  more  replete  harmoniousness,  maybe, 

Which  pettiness  and  privacy  alike, 

For  all  the  incessant  motion  of  the  mind 

And  aggregation  of  the  scriven'd  sheaves 

Of  the  music-elemental  culture-heat, 

Seem  doom'd  to  smother;  He  working  for  the  truth 

(As  God  through  Luther  work'd  beyond  the  man 

Two  centuries  now  since,  unto  all  time!) 

In  some  way  largelier,  more  to  reach  mankind 

(Haply  my  Mass  may  reach  more  creeds  than 

mine !) 

With  universal  scope,  than  now  by  me; 
And  yet  I  be  His  instrument,  as  now 
This  organ  is  mine  instrument  of  soul? 
Dear  God!  mine  were  Thy  Power  if  so  wouldst 

Thou 

Vouchsafe  to  me,  the  henchman  of  Thy  song, 
A  mission,  universal  angelhood, 
The  masterful  apostleship  to  lands 
Beyond  our  sunset  lying  or  to  times 
Franchised,  enlightened  far  beyond  these  days 
Of  niggard  skepticism  and  the  clouds 
Of  creed-made  tumult  of  the  nations  rent 
With  bitterness  of  half-belief  in  Thee 

148 


BACH 

Its  churchly,  temporal  establishments 

At  variance  each  in  jealousy!   If  Thou, 

Arrived  at  majesty  in  purports  new, 

Wouldst  let  me  speak  when  Christ  were  else  a 

name 

As  for  mistake  and  failure;  to  bring  back 
The  lost  of  Israel  from  their  sands  of  cant 
By  music  of  the  cosmic  fructifying 
Of  Thy  sphere-motions,  as  the  years  to-come 
Shall  learn  them  for  the  thoughts  within  Thy  mind 
Who  veilest  in  all  things  else  Thy  Heart  from  man 
Save  Law  and  architectured  Harmony! 
Dear  God!  if  Thou  couldst  let  me  know  this  glory 
Within  me  of  futurity  alarged, 
If  only  while  I  work  and  rear,  for  Thee 
Alone,  the  uplifts  of  an  art  no  man 
Hath  yet  in  understanding!  Oh!  for,  God, 
I  feel,  if  humbly,  that  within  my  moods 
And  ways  of  counterpoint  there  lurk  such  forms 
Of  intricate  coincidence  of  tone 
As  even  favoring  princes  would  contemn 
For  reason  of  a  novelty  inborn 
(A  Reformation,  unconservative; 
Iconoclastic  of  mere  piety!); 
149 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Which  subtler,  curious  thing  of  symphonies 
And  chordal  canonism  will  scarcely  come, 
Confounding  congregations,  from  the  hand 
Of  native  impulse  wholly  without  help 
Of  public  exploitation,  as  at  Worms 
Men's  mortal  opposition  brought  to  birth 
The  appeal  from  self  to  God.  Ah,  if  from  God 
Be  sympathy  expected,  it  is  well. 
And  if  to  God  be  every  hour  appeal 
As  now  in  anguish  of  the  splendor-spirit 
His  bounty  puts  upon  me,  it  is  well. 
But  might  not  God  reveal  such  sympathy, 
Accept  and  answer  outwardly  the  appeal 
(Not  only  with  the  fees  of  funerals  — 
Pardon  the  tragic  irony  of  man !  — 
Or  birthday  ode  upon  some  paid  command) 
In  here  and  there  insistence  of  a  prince 
On  better  than  the  best,  demand  of  men 
For  fictions  to  confound  a  choiring  throng? 
It  sure  may  be  that  God  Himself  hath  ways 
Of  stimulation  unperceived  of  him 
(Mine  organ  knoweth  not  the  reason  of  it 
Though  rendering  right  the  urgence  of  my  soul !) 
Of  stimulation  unperceived  of  him 
150 


BACH 

Who  followeth  the  gleam  and  still  appeals; 
Ways  from  within,  yet  also  plausibly 
By  help  unseen  without:  the  future  age 
Which  jealousies  of  churches  generate, 
Wherewith  all  earth's  at  labor  and  whereto 
A  man  who  loneliest  strives  may  heart-attain 
And  dwell  with  unaware?   Did  even  he 
Incarcerate  in  Wartburg  ever  dream 
Of  Germany  enfranchised,  celebrant 
As  latterly,  of  his  two  hundred  years? 
But,  oh!  the  open  conflict  and  the  power 
Of  emperies  array'd  against  the  man!  - 
With  me,  a  scholar  or  a  consistory! 

Nay,  nay!  I  have  spoken  with  God  and  He  hath  heard 

me 

Out  of  the  mood  of  pietist  despair 
And  struggling  exaltation  ever  mine! 
Nay,  nay!  There  is  a  work  unto  mine  hand 
Wherethrough  a  satisfaction  and  a  sense 
Of  universalism  stimulating 
A  soul  fulfill'd,  man's  work  unto  mine  hand 
In  training  of  my  sons  (wherewith  my  wife 
Were  more  than  merely  helpful)  and  at  school 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Some  simpler  truth  to  teach,  passing  adown 
The  Bach  tradition  out  of  Thiiringen. 
The  Christ,  the  Luther,  I  may  celebrate 
And  please  my  prince;  but  from  myself  appeal 
Not  publicly  'mid  hostile  emperies; 
Yet  privily:  leaving  the  rest  to  God! 


152 


FICHTE 

RISE  up,  rise  up,  O  Teutons,  and  cast  off 
The  Corsican ;  from  ashes  of  the  soul 
Spring  forth,  fresh-Phoenix-like,  and  strike  to  ground 
The  towering  eagle!  Be  the  nation  born 
Of  German  folk  to  grasp  a  birthright-earth, 
The  heritage  of  men !  Assert  our  strength 
And  claim  to  place  in  the  sun!  —  But  be  there  bounds 
To  just  ambition  and  to  vaulting  power 
A  bourn  of  self-restraint:  retrieving  earth 
By  virtue  of  men's  mutual  respect 
From  these  the  shambles  of  the  righteous  strife, 
The  terrible  probation  needed  now. 
For,  fellow-men,  what  saving  were  there  made 
Of  earth,  if  from  the  tyranny  o'erthrown, 
The  dragon's  seed  but  of  a  fiery  wrath 
Had  birth  and  in  our  throes  of  sacrifice 
But  strife  and  strife  were  bodied  everywhile? 
Leap  to  the  freedom-carnage  —  there  is  need! 
But  hold  within  your  hearts  the  brotherhood 
(My  creed  must  teach  it,  an  ye  understand!) 
Of  all  who  are,  the  stranger  even  as  ye, 
Exponents  of  the  Godhead!  Feel  the  truth 

153 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  absolute  selfhood  underlying  each 
Of  Gaul  as  Teuton !  Fight,  sith  fight  we  must, 
The  true  war,  slaughtering  them  the  despot's  hordes 
But  that  for  Prankish  as  for  German  youth 
A  new-enfranchised  western  neighbor-state 
Smile  at  ye  o'er  the  Rhineland !  Oh,  what  grief, 
Were  once  this  splendid  fervor  of  our  folk 
For  freedom  and  for  opportunity, 
The  wide  world  through,  that  spirit  and  spirit-truth 
(Mistake  not  strength  of  law  for  despotism; 
Well-knit,  enlightened  rule,  for  arrogant  will !) 
In  each  established  state,  self-regulate 
And  neighbor-independent,  overtly 
Alone  should  reign  —  what  desecrating  shame, 
Were  this,  the  spirit-of-uplift  in  us  now, 
Which  my  poor  words  assist  in  stirring-on, 
Were  generous  patriotism  made  the  mask 
For  furious  world-subjection !  Shall  we  fight 
Beyond  the  mountains  of  a  German  mark? 
No,  never  beyond  the  Rhineland  save  to  serve 
The  Frank  by  ruin  of  the  despot  there! 
Shall  Germany  enfranchised  prove  a  yoke 
(A  bitterer  despotism  than  before) 
To  Frank,  Iberian  —  as  this  crew  hath  been 

154 


FICHTE 

Of  him  call'd  Imperator  —  and  blood-lust 
Inflame  us  to  be  scourge  of  half  the  earth, 
A  second  Hunnish  plague  of  Attila? 
Far  be  it  from  us!   Rather  had  my  words 
Been  smother'd  in  my  throat,  before  their  time 
Choked  down  ere  utterance,  than  my  battle-taunt 
Be  taken  for  a  cry  of  conquest  here! 
Brethren  and  fellowmen!  Your  enemies 
Are  fellows  also.   Let  not  Germany 
For  dint  of  one  good  deed  blot  out  in  the  end 
Heart-sense  of  wrong  and  right:  as  ill  should  be 
(Alas!  as  now  I  fear  it  of  our  fury!) 
Were  sword  and  shot  to  be  world's  arbiters! 
Ah!  vision  of  a  justice  beyond  ours: 
Some  overnational  tribunal  set 
(The  national  privacy  alway  preserving!), 
Some  permanent  conclave  as  of  judges  (each 
Race-representative,  by  rulers  chosen) 
Arm'd  only  with  the  solemn  treaty-oath 
(Unsmirchable  in  honor  to  a  world!), 
Which  no  necessity  could  bid  us  break, 
Of  nation  each  with  nations;  to  submit 
Unto  such  rational  arbitrament 
The  burden  of  dispute:  that  thus  our  shares 
155 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Were  beaten  out  of  swords,  and  reaping-hooks 

Be  bent  of  spearheads;  none  be  need  of  arms 

Save  guarding  a  law  and  order  national 

Against  the  evildoer!  Thus,  thus,  o'  troth, 

Liefer  than  in  arbitrament  of  dread 

And  death,  were  glory  of  our  egohood 

Achieved.  Ah,  friends!  I  have  through  my  best  days 

(Who  now  by  stress  of  tyrannies  am  driven 

To  this  high  ranting,  rousing  up  the  land)  — 

Through  my  best  days  have  urged  the  inmost  truth, 

Scarce  as  of  revolution  by  the  mob 

Nor  as  of  conquest  extra-national 

But,  of  a  strength  of  order,  holding  fast 

For  health  domestic  as  for  race-respect 

A  peace,  that  universal  spirit-hood 

Which  binds  all  hearts  together,  keepeth  faith 

By  honor  and  by  generosity 

Where  oaths  are  (nay,  where  oaths  are  needed  not 

For  honor)  between  man  and  man,  and  holds 

One  common  intuition  of  God-kind 

For  basis  of  achievement.    If  our  souls, 

Each  in  its  kind,  must  personally  soar 

To  splendor  of  privacy,  oh,  not  by  will 

Inflicted  on  the  weaker  but,  by  love 

•56 


FICHTE 

In  art,  in  poetry  the  master-mind 
(A  Goethe,  Schiller,  surely  showeth  ye!),  ^ 
Through  cultural  appreciation  proven 
Shall  ease  him  of  ambition!   If  our  souls 
Leap  to  the  armament,  O  men,  have  care 
Of  the  future  culture  of  men's  brotherhood 
Which  heeds  well  frontiers,  in  forbearance  proud, 
Deals  fairly  with  our  common  humanhead! 
Were  it  a  dream-chimera?   Must  we  choose 
Or  such  enslavement  as  the  Corsican 
Hath  planted  on  our  necks;  else  or  commit 
Our  children  and  our  children's  children  after 
To  bitter  armament,  the  frantic  strife, 
The  desperate  overbearing?  No !  That  crime, 
That  world-crime  worst  against  our  fatherhood 
Be  far  from  this  the  spirit-fatherland ! 
And  if  bad  hearts  arise  who  would  forget 
Man's  common  birthright  of  the  absolute-soul 
Alike  in  each,  'soever  otherwise 
Be  tongue  from  tongue;  and  if  they  conquest  cry 
And  tyranny  to  desolated  hearths 
(Where,  brotherhood  forgot,  no  fatherland 
Can  claim  a  sonship)  then  to  them  turn  ye, 
O  generations,  not  with  lackeying  ear! 
157 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

But  strongly  daunt  them  with  the  reason-claim 

Of  generous  furtherance  I  teach  ye  now: 

I  who  must  take,  in  all  humility, 

This  risk,  of  one  who  rouseth  in  men's  hearts 

The  tempest  of  an  hatred,  that  it  burn 

Too  hot  to  be  extinguished  but  may  lie 

Forever  smouldering,  ah,  flickering  up 

(Which  faith  foref end !)  with  breath  of  policy  ' 

And  arrogant  statecraft  alway !  —  Yet  be  yours 

The  claim  of  aspiration  spiritual, 

The  mission  of  emancipation  now; 

Carrying  not  desolation  but  relief 

From  burden;  with  the  liberty  of  truth, 

The  freedom  each  to  dwell  in  liberty 

With  truth  for  helpmate!   Friends,  the  hour  is  come 

(Now  stirs  the  splendid  Slav's  new-saving  strength ! 

The  noble  English,  guardians  of  the  seas, 

Hover  with  white-wing'd  aid!)  —  the  hour  is  come 

Of  Germany's  deliverance.  Go  ye  forth; 

Smite  once  and  greatly  smite:  and  smite  no  more! 


158 


SCHOPENHAUER 

THE  hour  is  bed-time;  but  the  wine  is  good, 
Warming,  yet  almost  wholly  feverless. 
Yon  viols  sing-it  soothingly,  the  'winds' 
Not  too  asseverative  tame  their  throats 
To  moods  in  mystical  complacency 
Of  contemplation  whilst  my  limbs  repose 
Beneath  their  harmony  and  bask  with  them: 
The  melody  of  prelude!  And  my  heart 
Outreaches,  takes  (upon  the  stimulus 
Of  symphony  within  me  and  without 
Releasing  from  long,  nerve-rack'd  harassment) 
Inceptions  novel,  tuned  unto  the  taste 
Esthetic  of  the  momentary  lapse 
From  tension  and  from  irritance.   I  turn 
No  petulance  now  upon  the  pageant-thoughts 
Which  dream-like  muster  in  the  lamplit  air; 
Relaxing,  I,  to  suave  despondency 
Well-suited  unto  genius  at  research; 
The  genius  at  research  till  haply  wine 
With  music  lull  to  luxury  of  sleep 
Sans  that  bourgeois  banality  of  bed 
And  boorish  night-cap.  And  in  open'd  book 
159 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Which  suits  so  well  by  sugar'd  sonneting 

The  melody  of  prelude,  let  me  prick 

For  phrase  that  fits,  some  text  unto  the  tune ' 

Of  thought  :  good  reading  matching  the  good  wine. 

'Music  to  hear,  why  hear  I  music  sadly', 
When  all  the  yearning  of  the  will  of  the  world 
(The  human  burden-note,  the  nature-chord 
Supportant  summing-up  the  cosmos-scheme), 
With  scarce  world's  anguish'd  unreality 
Of  intellect-presentment,  sweetly  speaks  — 
Ay,  sweetly  speaks,  despite  objective  taint 
Still  archetypal  of  our  misery  — 
In  music  wholly  and  therein  alone? 
Why  sadly,  when  the  will,  as  Will,  were  nought 
Hedonic?  Were  it  that  the  intellect, 
Whereof  perchance  no  auditor  were  purged 
(Oho!  am  I  of  intellect  now  purged, 
Who  spur  at  truth-lists  but  in  music's  name?) 
Nor  musical  creator  quite  exempt 
In  exposition  to  art's  inwardness, 
Through  some  machinery  of  sense  impinged 
In  music  as  in  aught  else,  outwardly 
Interprets  and  infuses  with  a  tint 

160 


SCHOPENHAUER 

Of  customary  melancholy,  taken 
From  visual  imaginations,  e'en 
These  tonal  harmonies?  Were  it  that  we 
(Whose  speech  is  alway  wondrously  betwixt 
Vision  and  voice,  interpreting  all  insight!) 
In  no  sort  may  escape  idealism 
Specific,  individual  in  fine, 
Howe'er  disguised  as  though  beyond  the  self, 
Of  the  self-illusion?  Though  yon  music  make 
(Expressive  overtly  of  nothing  known) 
Appeal  in  uttermost  not  unto  mind 
But  unto  will's  impersonality, 
Warranted  as  by  genus  general, 
Architectonic  o'er  Platonic  types, 
Of  pure  conatus  in  unconsciousness, 
Must  self  with  sensitivity  intrude 
(Sense,  the  sheer  stuff,  the  raw  material 
Of  ideality,  as  Locke  hath  shown) 
To  spoil  all  and  announce  with  all  life  else 
The  world-delusion  and  delinquency? 
Delinquent  are  we  that  the  oracle 
Of  will-reality  (cause  veritable 
E'en  of  curst  consciousness)  must  yet,  unreal 
(For  so  in  last  resort  unreal  is  all 
161 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Law-semblant  definition  'neath  the  shroud 
Of  space-and-time-form  falsely  causative  — 
How  quaint  my  Kant  combined  with  Gautama, 
And  yet  profound  beyond  post- Kantian  creeds 
Of  shallow  solipsistic  optimism!), 
This  pseudo-oracle  of  truth  must  yet 
Within  our  fantasy  denominate 
Only  the  old  illusion !   How  may  we  men 
Hear  music  to  approve  us  feelingly, 
In  the  last  freedom-effort  of  the  heart, 
Of  universal  failure,  lo!  nor  weep: 
Shamed  of  the  sad  insistence  of  the  self; 
Alarm'd  at  life's  incapability 
From  life's  illusions  of  a  last  escape? 
Alas!  allowing  to  efficient  will 
Some  hope  of  nescience  though  the  knower  live, 
Through  art  (the  form  Platonic  brought  to  earth 
Unwill'd  save  of  the  universal,  felt 
As  truth)  in  music  have  I  dream'd  escape 
(Music,  the  meaning  of  Pythagoras 
When  measure,  number  was  declared  the  key!), 
Hailing  the  hint  of  inarticulance 
(Involved  in  mere  numericality  j 
And  lack  of  literal  allusiveness) 
162 


SCHOPENHAUER 

For  will-reality,  of  poignancy 

Provided  by  conceptual  emptiness 

In  concentration  on  the  immediate  mood 

For  unillusion,  non-idealism  — 

Mistaken  in  a  fond  interpreting; 

And  feel  now  fervently  mine  hope  betray'd, 

And  nothing  save  illusion,  no  escape 

(Unless,  as  now,  my  nisus  were  appeased  — 

Ah!  surely  scarce  in  dreadful  suicide!  — 

Ever  in  truth-perception  geniuswise?), 

No  escape  granted  to  the  sensuous  man 

Wholly  from  unreality,  allow'd 

Anywise  from  the  world-embodiment. 

For  even  an  hint,  be  it  hint  of  what  you  please 

Beyond  the  mind  (even  Fichte,  fool  enough, 

Had  sight  of  that!),  implies  yet  consciousness; 

And  form  of  space-perception  dominates 

(Ha!  Kant  would  have  spared  from  space  his  moralism, 

But  could  not,  as  my  doctrine  plainly  proves!) 

Still  in  the  very  "goal"  of  an  "escape". 

And  I  am  sad  while  music  mocks  at  me, 

Who  face  the  universal  failure  with 

Discomfort  of  mistake  and  fair  disproof! 

As  I  treat  all  men  else,  so  now  in  turn 

163 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Music  makes  sport  of  genius  in  my  frame, 
Pronouncing  error  where  was  boastfulness.  — 
Fain  from  disproof  would  genius  be  debarr'd! 
Fain  would  be  proven  genius  in  the  adoption 
Of  the  very  truth  found  so  discomforting! 
Say,  the  new  step  be  taken,  from  mistake 
Freed  by  the  very  burden  of  disproof, 
The  spirit  of  genius  saved  bewilderment! 
Say,  all  is  veil'd,  one  woof  of  misery, 
One  warp  of  mystery  and  no  escape 
(Nay,  not  in  utmost  generality 
Hyperplatonic  of  the  objectivism) 
From  intellect's  insistence  of  idea; 
But  most-abstraction  lies  but  most  remote 
(As  Plato's  truths  were  still  beyond  the  world) 
From  world-salvation  merely  and  from  truth, 
Not  from  our  falsehood  and  unhappiness! 
Say,  every  loophole  fancied  of  this  life 
(Even  the  Oriental  necromancy 
Of  self-abstrusion,  but  approximately, 
Not  fully  liberative  from  the  thrall) 
Stands  stopp'd;  and  nought  of  any  worldlessness, 
Abstractly  counter  to  the  pure  idea, 
Pertaining  to  the  will  may  be  allow'd; 
164 


SCHOPENHAUER 

And  very  will-reality  but  names 

A  central  core,  an  accursed  fundament 

(No  thing-itself  beyond  our  hedonism, 

But  equally  with  ideality 

Topic  of  our  despair  as  of  delight) 

From  which  might  be  no  dream  of  mere  escape 

(Save  genius  be  beyond  bewilderment 

Delighting  in  the  new-won  estimate 

Of  will-presentment,  yea,  of  heart-idea?) 

For  Maia  and  our  self-bewildering! 

Then  might  I  hear  music  less  moodily 

Which  yields  at  least  such  fundamental  truth 

(For  fundamental  truth  someway  it  seems 

Though  more,  perchance,  akin  to  Locke  than 

Kant  — 

Far  be  it  from  the  Fichtean  foolery, 
From  Schelling's  charlatanry,  Hegel's  hoax!) 
In  proof  of  irretrievable  dismay: 
By  being  truth,  ay,  despite  the  truth's  dismay, 
None  less  a  law  whereof  I  were  behoved 
(Where'er  it  lead  and  wheresoe'er  derived 
If  not  from  these  Teutonic  solipsists!) 
Best  to  be  proud  in  the  possession,  not 
Cast  down,  below  mere  mundane  melancholy, 
165 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

With  feelingful  oppression.   For  if  world, 
As  proved  now  by  this  music-maundering, 
Even  in  hyperplatonism  (extreme 
Resort  of  objectivity)  defy 
Our  artist-effort  from  self-tanglement 
To  free  the  world-will,  even  so  must  be 
Some  principle  of  understanding,  power 
Call'd  forth  in  genius  by  the  new  demand 
Of  comprehension  in  me  that  entails 
New  explanation.   Grant  that  music  means 
Through  utmost  generality  of  art 
(Itself  the  hyper-art  from  mind  remotest) 
In  some  sort  most  approximately  will 
Clean  of  specific  demarkation,  world-will 
Without  will-world's  idealism,  and  thus 
(Spare  me  the  Fichtean  ego-inference!) 
Yields  hint  of  plausible  freedom  from  a  thrall 
Of  self-mistake,  yet  worst  of  all  mistakes 
Would  be  to  blind  heart  to  the  strength  of  sense 
So  well  descried  of  Locke  and  Kant  alike, 
Which  even  in  instance  of  a  beauty  blind, 
An  art  of  tone  sweetly  unvisual, 
Envelopes  if  by  symphony  of  sound 
With  veil  of  miserable  mystery. 
166 


SCHOPENHAUER 

And  from  mistake,  searching  the  secret  things 
For  mastery,  may  genius  be  debarr'd ! 

Music  to  hear,  so  may  I  hear  half-gladly 
Roused  for  the  nonce  from  suave  despondency 
As  erstwhile  from  the  accustom'd  petulancies; 
And  fearing  only  some  misinference 
Too  far  toward  Fichte  in  the  strain'd  revolt 
So  sudden  from  the  accustom'd  Hinduism 
Of  world-illusion  and  will-nescience! 
Music  to  hear,  so  may  I  hear  half-gladly, 
By  conscience  of  the  hint  contain'd  of  truth 
Unusual,  revolutionizing  to 
My  doctrine,  stimulating  to  the  brain 
Of  one  half-stagnate  with  entirety 
(As  none  before  me  with  entirety 
Save  Leibniz,  stagnant  in  a  dogmatism; 
Or  Berkeley,  haply,  whom  the  saving  salt 
Of  sane  subjectivism  could  not  cure 
Of  Judaism's  stale  theology  - 
Ay,  or  Spinoza,  at  the  best  half-Jew!), 
The  brain  lethargic  with  entirety 
Of  hitherto  conviction.    From  thought's  first 
Inception  of  my  system  sprung  full-arm'd 
167 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

From  my  young  front  (and  few,  I  ween,  so  young 
Show'd  thus  mature!)  hath  small  development, 
Save  if  by  confirmation  —  and,  o'  troth, 
Hath  all  comparison  with  creeds  extant 
Of  Hindu,  Greek  or  Modern  but  confirm'd 
My  creed's  superiority,  till  now 
My  genius  grasps  a  growth  within  itself 
Quite  independent,  as  I  stoutly  swear, 
Unfecundate  of  chance  resemblances 
To  Fichte's  superficiality 
My  riper  penetrations  so  abhor  — 
From  truth's  first  birth  hath  small  development 
Save  evidential  testimony  ensued 
To  titillate  intellection  or  require 
Of  genius  exercise.   T  was  daily  but 
The  cataloguing  of  more  instances 
(As  Aristotle  wasted  stupidly 
Acumen  too  discursive  citing  facts 
As  instances  of  species  yet  unproved, 
For  all  his  logic  categorical !) 
In  proof  of  fundamental  postulates 
Seemingly  unassailable:  the  Will, 
The  World-Presentment  and  the  Pure  Idea: 
A  balance  of  the  Two  and  Tertium  Quid 
1 68 


SCHOPENHAUER 

Someway  arising  in  the  brain  (conceived, 
Though  feature  of  idea  derivative 
And  so  in  need  of  warrant  with  the  rest, 
Yet  mystically  warranting  the  world 
By  secret  union  of  idea  and  will  — 
My  circulus  in  demonstrando  —  brain !) ; 
And  within  World-Presentment  (properly 
Enough  if,  as  it  seems,  Presentment  be 
Perchance  all  of  my  system  that  survives 
Proof  of  sense-universal)  elements 
Of  subject-self,  of  object-otherhood, 
The  true-face  (saving  that  the  private  self 
Were  presence!)  and  the  false-face  of  a  truth 
Intrinsically  false  in  virtue  of 
The  double-faced  subtension.  Such  it  was: 
My  world-solution;  and  therefrom  derived 
The  mystic  purpose  to  annihilate 
Unto  a  world-salvation  self  and  brain, 
The  inward  and  the  outward  privacy 
Of  individuation.    But  —  at  a  gleam  — 
This  music,  and  this  moodiness  aware 
Of  doubt  and  new  denominations  to 
The  well-worn  platitudes.   And  I  have  proved 
Myself,  maybe  (as  erst  all  thinkers  else 
169 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

By  my  critique!),  in  error;  and  take  delight 
Strange  in  the  sudden  mockery  of  me 
(Might  I  endure  it  on  another's  tongue?) 
Which  music  hath  induced.   For,  of  a  flash, 
I  penetrate  'Arcanas  all  unguess'd' 
Derisively,  anent  the  vaunted  theme 
Of  flawlessness  to  my  philosophy 
Establishing  counter-systems  in  a  word: 
I  pleased  thereby  both  for  the  cynicism 
Of  mine  own  goals-destroy 'd  and  claims-decried 
And  for  the  feel  of  power  in  the  insight 
Of  truth-perception  fondly  fresh-allow'd 
(Despite  this  warning  to  my  dogmatism!) 
For  fundament  incontrovertible. 
T  is  slight,  the  change  of  sight,  and  yet  how  vast 
The  implication!   Let  me  laugh  (as  might  laugh 
Kant  at  those  earlier  dogmatisms  destroy'd!) 
At  recollection  of  the  creed  foregone 
A  moment  since!  Where  now  were  vague  Idea 
(That  echo  of  the  falser  Platonism 
Beyond  the  genus-truth)  or,  echoing  Buddh 
With  some  extravagance,  the  vaguer  Will? 
The  concept  of  sheer  consciousness,  o'  sooth, 
Supposed  objective  and  sheer  nescience 
170 


SCHOPENHAUER 

Supposed  subjective  (this  the  very  Real, 
That  the  Ideal)  conscience  as  of  nought 
And  nothingness  unconscienced  given  to  match 
Each  void  the  other's  vague  inanity? 
With  music  for  the  password  to  prove  both? 
Where  now  the  music  antinomial: 
Pure  objectivity  of  nothing  known, 
Pure  nisus  of  a  non-sense  join'd  within 
Tone-harmonies  alone  (for  visual 
Imaginings,  even  of  art,  were  still 
Recognized  terms  of  ideality 
'Soe'er  generic)  tones  excepted  from 
Otherwise  universal  rule  of  self 
(Ah!  how  now  shirk  the  Fichte-Schelling  Self?) 
The  hybrid  and  her  world  sensational 
Of  mystery  in  mixture?   Suddenly, 
The  assertion  of  the  modicum  of  sense 
(The  sensuous  fundament,  heard  or  unheard) 
In  tone-creation,  of  the  parallel 
'Twixt  voice  and  vision,  and  the  paradox 
Melts  into  marvel  that  it  e'er  had  seem'd 
Solution  serious!  Not  one  loophole  left 
For  any  inkling  of  a  meaning,  in 
Experience  the  sole  criterion,  to 
171 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Or  selfless  Will  or  objectless  Idea; 
To  Will  pure  Real,  nor  illusionism! 
But,  in  default  of  any  severance, 
A  somewhat  which  all  theories  would  mean 
Which  aim  at  unity  and  system,  somewhat 
Perchance  which  others  (might  they  be  those  three 
In  chief  I  scoff  d  at?)  guess'd  more  close  than  I; 
Somewhat  associant,  identical 

With  selfhood  as  with  worldhood  through  and  through 
For  the  true  Real,  where  nought  is  beside 
For  basis  of  deception,  ay,  for  veil 
Of  Maia  I  fondly  featured:  somewhat  shown, 
No  doubt,  in  some  degree  by  all  who  seek 
Fair  understanding  as  their  genius  leads: 
An  union  elemental  through  one  system 
(Temporal-spatial,  ay,  essentially) 
Of  subject-objecthood,  of  me  and  world 
Within  my  personal;  with  personal  will 
For  nexus  of  the  worldhood-intellect; 
With  personal  intelligence  providing 
(Not  in  an  hyper-kind  or  genus-sort 
Conceptualwise,  but  primely  by  perception 
Interpreting  unto  self-purposes 
The  other-selves  provisional  of  sense) 

172 


SCHOPENHAUER 

The  terms  of  selfhood's  real  assertiveness; 

And  Person,  compounded  of  idea  and  will 

Uniquely,  for  denominance  of  all. 

And,  where  in  music  thus  the  person  takes 

(Scarce  mythic  Number  of  Pythagoras; 

Which  were  but  time  without  time-consciousness!) 

Tone-interrelation  felt  discriminately 

Whilst  cognized  as  of  self  hedonicwise 

By  intimate  mergence  of  these  elements 

Of  system  recognized  identical 

With  world-self  at  expression  (ay,  reconstructed 

E'en  in  the  auditor  who,  too,  creates  — 

If  most  by  imitation),  there  finds  the  spirit 

True  satisfaction,  scarce  as  by  escape 

From  worldhood,  not  by  nescience  of  the  will 

Obliterate  from  ideality, 

But  by  world-realization  outwardwise 

As  inwardly  opening  intelligence 

To  comprehension  of  the  unioning, 

To  nexus  in  extremes,  to  terminism 

In  blind  conatus;  leaving  nowise  blind, 

Nowise  mysterious  nor  illusional 

Nor  veil'd  of  Maia,  this  our  beauty-life 

Of  reconciliation,  opposites 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 
Inextricably,  throughly  polarized 
And  constituting  wholeness  mutual. 
How  vast  the  implication  from  this  seed 
Of  sense,  this  hint  of  solidarities 
(I  care  not  though  the  ear  hear  silently, 
As  now  in  momentary  pause  of  sound; 
For  inward  speech  itself  is  sensuous-based) 
Abiding  even  in  music  —  sense  itself 
But  worldhood  least-avowed  as  of  the  person 
(Most  strict  externalized  in  other-selves 
Themselves  scarce  held  in  self  s  heart-sympathy), 
Most  unlike  inwardness  yet  none  the  less 
In  rudiment  systematic:  the  last  straw 
My  drowning  disrupt  snatch'd  at  and  was  saved! 
So  from  mistake  hath  genius  been  debarr'd, 
Grateful  for  disproof  by  the  music-mood. 

Music  to  hear,  thus  hear  I  music  gladly 
(E'en  from  the  mythus  of  my  Shakespear  freed!); 
And  from  the  gladness  by  irradial  gleams 
Discover  in  all  experiences  else 
The  tinge  of  satisfaction  hitherto 
Quite  undetected:  that  my  pessimism 
Seems  a  lost  shadow,  and  itself  alone 
174 


SCHOPENHAUER 
Unreal,  illusion'd.   For  where  all  is  real 
Which  to  the  personal  will  hath  meaning,  what 
Remains  of  old  illusion  yielding  gloom 
For  dint  of  unreality?  Where  life 
Is  universal-mutual,  what  want 
Of  pure  Idea,  to  clear,  as  I  conceived, 
The  privy-wrought  confusion;  or  what  need 
For  necromantic  abnegation  of 
A  world  proved  truth  organic?  World  and  I 
Alike  are  mutual-necessary,  each 
Essential,  real  with  reality 
Identical  in  the  inter-reference, 
Sufficing  to  criterion  of  an  whole; 
And  so  are  warrantable  each  by  each, 
And  thus  a  living  music!  —  Yet,  ah!  how  weary 
The  ear,  now,  at  such  stress  irrelevant 
Of  yonder  loud  expulsion  from  the  brass 
Of  booming-breath'd  vibration!  With  what  snarl, 
Irritant  to  attentive  petulance 
Startled  as  out  of  prophecies  in  sleep, 
Attest  the  viols  their  complainingness! 
Ha!  't  is  a  weary  business,  this  of  earth, 
Sans  all  Arcanas  worth  the  dreaming  of; 
A  wear-and-tear  without  or  let  or  cease 
175 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  each  on  other;  sight  or  sound  alike 
(Even  speech-thought,  of  both  made  up  in  base) 
Only  some  friction  of  the  jaded  nerve! 
A-bas,  the  foolish  jest  of  joust  for  truth 
When  merely  living  is  a  strife  enough! 
Nought  without  sheer  sensation!  Oh,  there  crowds 
In  on  the  ruffled  spirit  such  a  storm, 
Outraging  genius  in  its  inwardness, 
Of  interruptions  and  irrelevancies! 
No  heart-escape!  No  thwarting  such  a  will 
Inveigled  in  its  cage  inextricably 
To  crowd  and  jar,  to  push  and  be  rebuff'd 
The  livelong  eons  of  vulgarity 
(Humanity  and  nature  bourgeois  both; 
Whether  supportant  or  at  odds,  what  care?) 
Call'd  cosmos!  Ah!  would  but  the  courage  stick, 
How  swift  I  'd  cheat  things  of  their  sport  of  me, 
Checking  their  mockery  with  proud  report 
Of  how  I  dared  the  nobler  self-escape, 
Destroy'd  out  of  the  world  my  saviorhood 
Of  wisdom  scarce-appreciated:  so 
Abandoning  their  world-will  to  its  fate! 
Ah,  well!   I  dare  not.   'T  is  a  question  closed 
And  seal'd  with  doctrine  how  the  true  escape, 
176 


SCHOPENHAUER 

Easy  enough  by  contrast,  were  not  death 

But  life's  continuance  in  some  will-less  mood 

(Possible  to  the  ascetic  saint,  no  doubt) 

Of  vacant  contemplation!  —  Well,  for  me 

Here  was  a  will-wan  mood  aesthetical 

(Born  of  a  chance  phrase  in  a  much-thumb'd  book 

Which  now  I  snap-to,  pocket  testily) 

With  contemplation  but  not  vacantness; 

With  fantasy  of  Fichtean  folly  —  faugh! 

Yon  breath  in  the  brass,  yon  poignance  of  the  strings 

May  seek  and  find  escape,  forsooth.    But  I, 

My  sad  limbs  stiff  with  these  unyielding  stools, 

Surfeited  now  with  music  can  but  pay 

Their  stupid  reckoning.  —  How  much  for  bad  wine? 

Bah!  't  is  too  dear!  —  And  so  am  off  to  bed. 


177 


LINCOLN 

THE  people  shall  be  trusted.  Strong,  though  sad, 

In  confidence  I  must  announce  the  truth: 

Defeat,  disruption  of  the  nation  now, 

The  disappearance  from  the  face  of  earth 

Of  high  democracy  and  government 

By  the  people  for  the  people  evermore, 

Now  and  forever  —  save  the  people  come 

Equally  from  all  sorts  in  sacrifice 

Of  national  service  to  the  service-line, 

With  common  blood  unto  the  bloody  front, 

And  face  in  absolute  democracy 

The  time's  necessity.   For  hitherto 

Have  but  the  bravest  and  the  best  stepp'd  forth 

To  strip  for  freedom's  ringside,  leaving  all 

Of  home  and  comfort  and  of  life-career 

Because  a  patriotism  upsprung  within, 

A  public  duty  felt  and  speaking  in  them 

Prevail'd  above  all  selfish  obstacle 

And  drove  them  by  compulsion  of  the  soul, 

By  conscience  to  the  terrible  battle-front. 

And  this,  despite  democracy  supposed, 

Was  worse  than  aristocracy;  the  best 


LINCOLN 

But  flung  in  the  breach.  And  of  the  best  there  be  not 

Enough  to  stem  the  tides  of  slavery; 

Nor  Union  to  posterity  bequeath. 

Yea,  can  democracy  and  liberty  never 

Turn  to  the  world  the  trick  of  victory 

Won  and  the  right  established,  save  the  crowd 

(At  heart  too  proud  to  cower  beneath  the  shield 

Of  nobler  natures)  find  in  the  fight  at  last 

Their  manhood  and  salvation,  nobly  dying 

Where  need  is  to  make  life  nobler  to  live. 

The  people,  if  to  learn  to  find  their  life, 

Must  be  compeird  and  at  the  dire  need 

Trusted  to  take  equality  of  pain. 

Equality  of  pain!  Is  that  then  all? 
Or  truly  first  when  sacrifice  is  shared 
Springs  brotherhood?  Shall  I,  the  solitary, 
So  sorely  friendless  at  the  nation's  head, 
So  nigh-unaided  in  its  counsellings, 
By  Providence  compell'd  to  every  task 
Of  leadership  alone  (and  so  companion'd, 
At  worst,  of  Providence!),  in  taking  on  me 
The  terrible  responsibilities 
Now  of  the  draft-conscription  to  make  men 

179 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Follow  by  sheer  compulsion,  not  myself 
At  last,  and  for  the  first  in  verity, 
Feel  kinships  and  the  strength  of  sympathies 
With  every  man  within  the  nation's  bound 
Who  serves  and  learns  to  love  beyond  aught  else 
His  country,  that  profound  community 
Of  purpose  to  set  freedom  everywhere 
Above  compulsion  in  the  hearts  of  men? 
Strange,  bitter-sad  the  purgative  of  God, 
That  they  and  I  can  only  thus  be  free 
And  free  of  a  common  aim  in  sacrifice 
By  such  compulsion:  I,  compelling  me 
To  take  upon  my  heart  the  infinite  burden 
Prescribed  to  the  conscience  as  by  Providence 
Of  forcing  to  the  shambles  brother-men; 
But,  thereby  only,  winning  victory 
And,  thereby  only,  feeling  brotherhood 
Complete  and  innocence  of  tyranny 
In  the  friendship  of  the  faith  that  trusteth  men 
To  learn  the  deep  disaster  to  our  faith, 
To  share  with  me  the  secret  that  there  be  not 
Of  best  enough  to  save  the  earth  for  good.  — 
O  Lord,  couldst  Thou,  with  malice  unto  none 
And  charity  toward  all,  singly  prevail 
1 80 


LINCOLN 

By  Thy  high  sacrifice;  yet  of  mankind 

No  heart  and  soul  prevail,  'soe'er  high-placed 

In  men's  preferment  to  the  post  of  toil 

And  power  that  is  responsibility, 

No  single  will  assume  vicarious 

The  sacrifice,  unless  in  leading  now 

All  wills  alike  to  yield  with  him  their  life 

(For  high  resolve  how  none  in  vain  shall  die 

Of  them  who,  of  the  best,  have  fought  and  bled) 

In  immolation  to  the  common  weal? 

Yet  who  of  men  did  ever  learn  of  Thee 

Except  through  sacrifice?  And  this  I  bear, 

This  burden  of  compulsion  over  men, 

The  nearest  is  and  dearest  at  the  heart, 

Most  like  religion  to  democracy, 

Most  like  a  crucifixion  in  my  spirit 

Of  freedom,  that  it  wholly  rise  again.  - 

I  trust  the  people.  Though  my  trust  compel. 


181 


WAGNER 

To  them  there  is  nothing  plain  till  noon  hath  waned 
On  the  deed:  they  could  not  learn  though  I  might 

teach  them; 

For  wonted  things  alone  they  can  conceive. 
Whereas  my  spirit  broods  in  the  womb  of  dawn 
On  things  not  yet  brought  forth.    Some  sword  they 

need 

Of  hero  whom  their  gods  have  never  help'd 
(The  shatter'd  sword  which  wants  a  forging-heat), 
A  heart  not  bound  in  everlasting  law, 
But  fashioner  of  rule  beyond  their  gods' 
Walhalla  fall'n  in  ruin!   For  he  alone, 
Heart-plunged  in  furnace  of  the  welding  world 
By  stroke  on  stroke  fresh-forged  unto  the  times 
Were  fit  for  deed  which  no  god-kind  can  do, 
Remote,  estranged  from  the  onward  strength  of  men: 
Deed  which,  but  for  the  sake  of  gods  or  men, 
Some  Siegmund  must  befather!    But  they  are  nought 
(Save  only  Liszt  and  Ludwig  and  a  few!), 
Inept  to  understand  though  all  my  mind 
And  heart  and  power  of  soul  were  flung  before  them 
In  music-pearls  'neath  hoofs  of  the  Hagen-herd! 

182 


WAGNER 

The  Hagen-herd  who,  hating,  yet  support 

The  gods  of  old  by  hating  more  the  hero; 

And,  murdering  him,  had  balk'd  both  men  and  gods! 

Ah!  Wotan!  Wotan!  thou  at  worst  spak'st  truth, 

Though  wrath  inflamed  thee  with  desire  to  break 

Laws  of  thine  own  devising;  though  thy  god-spouse, 

Mere  Fricka,  frantic  with  the  wrongs  which  Earth 

Had  wrought  her  by  concubinage  with  thee 

Change-fertile,  Fricka,  conservatrix  still 

Of  canon,  flaunted  in  thy  face  the  rule 

Of  god-whim  everlasting!   But  the  lust-taunt 

Inspired  thee,  pluck'd  indeed  from  thy  dull'd  eye 

(Clouded  by  that  for  which  its  mate  thou  pledgedst!) 

The  wisdom  of  the  ages  and  allow'd 

Insight  prophetic  of  futurity! 

For  thou,  O  Wotan,  with  the  swine  who,  for 
The  hate  that  is  in  them  to  the  hero,  laud  thee 
(These  sycophants  of  canons  classical) 
Art  pass'd:  mightily  pass'd  and  grandly  so, 
My  soul  avows;  but,  pass'd  beyond  all  help 
Save  music  of  our  humankind  to-come 
More  than  re-youth  thee!   May  the  true  gods  of  song 
Not  fail  in  twilight  sith  tomorrow's  dawn 

183 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Hath  gleam'd  to  a  dayburst  in  the  speech  of  me: 
Song  aye  and  song,  though  every  critic  flout 
The  flame-rush  of  me;  though  my  every  word 
Deny,  destroy  the  modes  their  morbid  sense 
Craves  to  its  slumberous  soothing!  —  Rouse  and  wake, 
Thou  fire-maid  of  my  wish ;  that,  greatly  daring, 
My  heart,  the  unfamiliar  of  a  fear, 
Espouse  thee  and  upon  the  morning-heights 
Mouth  to  thy  glory  and  splendor  music  free 
And  formulable  but  to  the  fashioning 
Of  the  fearless  bride-pair,  me  and  thee,  high  maid! 
And  if,  at  end,  over  mine  ashes  roll 
The  green  and  deep  tumultuous-pulsing  Rhine 
Of  foam-new  melodies,  of  harmonies 
Snow-born  of  the  mountains  of  a  thousand  dawns 
And  rhythmic  passionings  beyond  the  ken 
Of  aught  now  swirling  in  me;  need  the  bright  sun 
Of  this  awakening  heart  to  heart  with  thee, 
Briinnhilde,  mourn  thy  love  for  wasted,  lost: 
That  thou  with  me  —  my  funeral  pyre  of  hope!  — 
Perishest  and  thine  ashes  with  mine  own 
Sweep  to  an  ocean  of  antiquity 
Where  both  were  nigh  forgotten?  Shall  the  wind 
Of  world-arousing  in  our  challenge-horn 

184 


WAGNER 

Echo  in  vain  along  the  streaming  crags 

For  that  this  magic  cirque  which  binds  us  twain 

Sinks  to  the  glimmering  depths;  and  bodeth  silence? 

Silence?   Nay,  love!    I  never  swerved  from  thee 

Nor  thee  insulted  for  the  draught  bedrugg'd 

Of  lips'-applause,  success  ephemeral, 

Fetching  thee  from  thy  fastness  down  to  them: 

Despite  the  sorry  saga.  And  not  then 

When  death  hath  stopp'd  my  tongue  (and  posthumous 

The  tone-child  waxeth)  not  then  at  the  last 

Need  silence  (still-birth  of  clangor  troth-betraying, 

Harsh-hearted)  seal  our  lips  of  concord-faith: 

Concord  of  union  though  the  world  misjudge 

With  allegation  of  horn-dissonance! 

For,  to  the  ages  though  my  tongue  be  stopp'd, 

Shall  this  our  ring  from  out  the  glimmering  Rhine 

Greenly  and  gloriously  emit  the  light 

Of  gold,  pure  gold:  that  all  Rhine-seas  of  song, 

Melodious-molten  in  the  weltering  wave, 

Yield  back  unto  the  sun  at  evening  as 

At  morning  (ay,  as  now)  a  power  of  faith 

Enarm'd  —  as  now  with  shield  and  helm  of  proof 

Aloft  upon  our  wonder-rock  sing  we: 

Sing  we,  aloft  upon  our  morning-peak 

185 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Which  giveth  back  the  sun  unseen  below, 

Laws  everlasting  to  the  realm  of  song 

Tumultuous,, mountainous  of  passioning, 

New  and  eternal  new-eternally; 

Godship  beyond  inheritance  o'  the  gods !  — 

But  they,  though  I  might  teach  them,  could  not  learn! 

But,  ah!  dear  maid!  this  Siegfried  of  thy  faith 
(Sudden,  by  pause  of  jubilation  in  me 
For  empty  hearkening  world's  echoless  void; 
Myself  estranged  from  the  onward  strength  of  men 
And,  all  too  soon,  myself  the  god-apart: 
Still  as  to-day  no  recognition  sponsors 
In  critic-mind  the  mystic  challenge-round!)  — 
Dear  maid!  alas,  this  Siegfried  of  thy  faith 
(Disown'd  of  the  lives  who  bore  too  lonelily 
The  man-birth  by  their  death  in  parentage!) 
I  feel,  o'  sooth,  within  the  rolling  Rhine 
Of  ages  got  of  this,  in  ashes  strewn 
Abroad  upon  oblivion,  the  ring: 
For  all  its  unalloy,  yet  time-debased, 
Revenged  of  time  for  that  I  outraged  eld 
Who  stole  the  hoard  by  slaughter,  scarce  for  grace 
Derived  of  gods  by  whom  I  seem'd  cast  off 

1 86 


WAGNER 

Acceptive  of  the  moulded  yielden  gift!  - 
The  ring,  made  mine  of  force  unhallow'dly 
(Scarce  felt  for  an  inheritance  from  them 
Whose  godship  came  anew  to  godship  in  me) 
Forever  hidden  in  the  hollow'd  grot 
Of  some  subaqueous  enchantment,  lost: 
Maugre  all  purity  of  vaunted  wonder 
And  (lawlessness  from  gods'  obliquity!  — 
Lost  out  of  life  as  out  of  life  was  lost 
Each  dwarf  or  monster  of  the  brood  of  earth 
Who  erst  had  owed  it  and  whom  my  sword  displaced 
By  brutal  dispossession !   For  no  father 
Nurtured  me;  and  my  foster-nurses  e'en, 
'Soe'er  admired  o'  the  callow  forest-youth, 
My  muse  hath  curtly  slain.  And  thy  loved  self, 
Too  privily  debarr'd  inheritance 
Of  thy  warfather's  world-publicity 
And  power  effective  (thou,  my  secret  heir 
To  Walhall's  domination,  yet  by  me 
Unowned  for  god-inheritress!),  thy  voice, 
Thy  desolated  voice  denied  of  men ! 
Alas,  for  the  hero,  mightiest  music-mind 
And  mate  of  inspiration  though  he  be! 
Alas!  for  him  who  (though  the  philtre-cup 

187 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Of  fate  excuse  him !)  thwarts  the  marriage-plan  ' 

Established  of  an  art's  propriety, 

Of  social  usage  and  precedence  given; 

Who,  deputy  but  of  authority 

To  bear  the  mystic  bride  unto  her  king 

His  master,  yet,  intoxicate  with  draught 

Of  private  joy  in  self-despairing  strength 

Autonomous,  enamoureth  thereby! 

How  Tristan-like  he  lieth,  lingering  long 

In  agony  of  wanting,  with  the  wound 

Of  inexpressible  artist-anguish  tortured, 

The  wound  of  the  world  whose  wisdom  he  has  wrong'd: 

The  wound  his  mad  hand  opens  mortally! 

Whilst  thou  but  in  his  yearning  (of  the  sense 

Scarce-recognised),  uncuring  of  the  smart 

Mayest  soothe  at  best,  for  all  thy  hastening  hither, 

Only  in  bitterest  anticipation 

Of  parting,  the  frenzied  pulse-beat  with  thy  voice; 

And  in  thy  coming  doomest  Kurwenal, 

Dragg'st  down  King  Mark  with  weight  of  friendship 

feli'd: 

The  Liszt,  the  Ludwig  harm'd  by  faith  in  me! 
Thou  hastest,  doubtless,  from  earth's  farthest  confines 
To  be  with  him  at  the  last,  attest  thy  faith 

188 


WAGNER 

And  hearten  him  unto  death's  proof-avow'd 

Of  uttermost  failure!  O'er  the  genius-corpse 

Thy  life,  too  late  arrived  in  the  battled  bark, 

Thine  own  life,  how  it  mourns  him,  with  what  sound 

Most  heaven-searchingly  thy  high  swan-song 

Announces  from  thy  soul-abandonment 

Still  greatly  true,  faith-dignified  in  death, 

The  world-release  heart-tragic  absolutely 

In  ultimate  annihilation  ended 

Of  every  dream'd-on  life-accomplishment. 

And  where  thou,  pure  Isolde,  meltest  down, 

An  obsolescence  and  antiquity, 

Athwart  the  corpse  of  thy  creative  love; 

There  he,  the  hero,  doubly  lies  forgot 

(Lost  out  of  thee  as  thou  from  the  world  art  lost!); 

And  all  is  as  though  love  had  never  been; 

As  though  the  spirit  of  music  had  not  waked, 

Not  even  to  the  lust  that  wrong'd  the  world, 

The  flux  that  flouted  formulas  foregone 

And  taunted  sane  convention!  And  now  I  come 

(The  private  passion,  the  secret  love  forsworn) 

To  music-reconstruction,  the  master-singing 

(By  dawn  upon  their  wonted  things  of  noon; 

Not  night-annihilative  but,  resurgent!) 

189 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 
Of  critical  tradition  re-enthused 
With  intimate  artistry  impassionate! 
And  in  the  reconstruction  shall  I  teach  them  " 
(Not  as  by  pearls  to  swine  but,  in  communion 
With  what  of  godship  ever  was  to  them, 
As  through  this  friendship  of  a  Liszt,  a  Ludwig!) 
By  speech  still  sane:  that  they  shall  understand! 

Yet,  soft!  This  master-singing!  Let  it  echo 
Never  so  nobly  with  the  social  strength 
Of  artist-organizing,  yet  what  depth 
Of  paradox,  of  difficult  dismay 
Unto  the  private  spirit  which  creates 
Such  enterprise  entaileth !  How  enthuse 
With  intimate  artistry  impassionate 
Their  music  of  the  academic  law? 
The  very  anti-art  of  formalism 
Revive  in  mine  own  person  (though  forsworn 
Be  music-revolution !)  unto  proof 
Of  radiant  beauty  undeniable? 
Though  I  abjure  the  fight,  may  I  adopt 
(As  now  attempted  in  my  comedy 
So  close  to  score-completion)  wantonwise 
The  school-traditional  authority 
190 


WAGNER 

As  prentice  still;  yet  turn  my  poetizing 
(Avoidantly  serene,  untragical 
Of  purport  as  of  world's  reception  too!) 
Beyond  all  praise  or  test,  to  breathing  form 
Perfectly  self-demonstrative  by  note 
On  note  of  meaningful  proportion,  chosen 
Tune-spontaneity  and  reasoning 
Wonder:  the  song  of  songs  and  melody 
Of  sheer  melodiousness?   How  play  the  god-part 
Of  personless  creation,  contentful 
Yet  whole,  emotion'd  yet  of  filial  calm, 
Proud  but  in  piety,  though  heroical; 
Presentative  of  men  and  women  aye 
Responsible,  humanely  as  though  godlike 
And  yet  exempt  from  magic  fate-commands, 
Self-prized  yet  prize-compelling:  when  the  man 
Must  crown  the  archaism  he  dethrones, 
If  aught 's  to  be  achieved  of  fruitfulness 
In  beauty  seeded  through  the  minds  of  men: 
Men's  necessary  minds,  still  stupidly 
(Save  only  Liszt  and  Ludwig  of  my  heartstrings!) 
Demanding  demonstration  of  the  art 
In  truth-terms  academic,  whilst  decrying 
Art's  demonstration  of  truth-novelty? 
191 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

For  so  the  gods  must  prove  allwise  the  world 
And  Walhall-everlasting  be  the  times' 
Onrush;  and  art,  of  art  conservative, 
For  all  its  alteration:  conserving  but 
As  by  renunciation  of  the  best 
And  disavowal  of  the  limit-goal 
Of  fancy-freed  achievement,  gaining  all !  — 
Thus,  thus  alone,  by  truth-relinquishment  i 
As  truth  were  privily  ideal,  reaches 
(With  calm  of  heart  and  vision  of  such  end 
To  hopes  of  self-achievement)  the  sick  soul 
A  peace  beyond  all  peradventure,  peace 
(Curing  the  wound  of  wanting  and  world-sin) 
Of  Holy  Grail  descended  from  above 
On  him  who,  thus  renouncing  not  alone 
The  storm  and  stress  but  therewith  overtly 
All  bourn  of  person'd  impress  on  the  times 
(Unlike  that  Siegfried  who  apostatized 
His  singleness  of  mission,  yet  was  slain! 
Ay,  Lohengrin-like;  though,  deeplier,  Parsifal: 
Scarce  by  withdrawal  but,  by  entering  in!), 
Accepts  the  song-succession,  the  soft  liguL 
Of  loftier  than  Walhall  streaming  down 
Out  of  the  dome  of  harmonies  vouchsafed 
192 


WAGNER 

In  solemn  onward  rhythmic  tongue  of  bell. 
The  gods  of  song  have  help'd  indeed  the  hero 
Who,  by  self-abnegation  of  all  aim 
(Mayhap  my  Liszt,  my  Ludwig  feel  this  in  me 
Maugre  my  seeming-egotist  despairs?) 
Save  reverent  consecution,  takes  the  bowl 
Of  blood  beloved  'twixt  the  hands  of  him 
For  consecration  and  for  sacrifice, 
To  bless,  release  and  rectify  the  truth, 
Not  in  defiance,  heart-tumultuously, 
Nor  with  the  hope  of  life-eternal  here 
Unless  'in  Christ',  successive  in  the  whole 
Of  endless  presence  through  the  temporal  stream; 
By  past-to-come  absolved,  resolved  through  prayer; 
Healing  not  as  by  magic  but  release 
From  untoward  interruption:  through  the  grasping' 
Of  weapons  hurl'd  transforming  them  to  balm; 
Scarce  by  avoidance,  ail-responsibly 
Savior  by  pity,  sympathizing  still 
With  gods,  progenitors  wherefrom  derived, 
And  marvel-ways  of  obsolescence;  so 
Successor-conservator  militant 
By  spirit-classicism;  saint  approved 
By  generosity,  yielding  to  art 

193 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Because  of  reverence  and  self -despite 
A  canon  as  by  insight-innocence, 
By  art-religion  and  law-mystery 
Now  understood,  unlocked  with  heart-key  to  it: 
Not  liable  to  love-death  nor  disown'd 
Of  any  seas  of  song  horizon-broad 
Which  bear  within  their  wave  the  wonder-ring 
And  need  not  waft  a  troth-betraying  bride 
Too  late  to  him  who  dieth  of  the  law! 
For  such  an  one  as  he,  this  Parsifal, 
Now  waxing  in  me  with  acceptance  of 
The  mission  of  succession  beautiful 
In  order  from  the  earliest,  such  as  he 
(Enlighten'd  not  by  fairy  speech  of  bird 
From  forest-ignorance  to  hero-lore 
But,  by  the  power  of  soul-significance 
Enfranchised  through  envisagement  of  sin!) 
Stands  help'd  of  the  gracious  gods  and  founding  them 
More  surely  in  Walhalla  mountain-rear'd 
By  every  humbler  utterance.  —  Come  we,  then, 
Companions  of  my  stress  and  storm,  Isold', 
Brunnhilde,  maids  of  mine  imagining 
(Ah!  Kundry,  your  fallen  sister,  can  but  die; 
Yet  dies  renew'd:  old  failures  art-redeem'd!); 

194 


WAGNER 

And  learn  how  scions  are  we  of  the  gods, 

God-help'd  and  helping!  Come  ye,  hand  in  hand! 

The  morning  is  upon  the  lands  of  song 

Because  the  nights  have  been  and  ancient  dawns 

Have  touch'd  ere  now  the  snow-peaks  with  their  beams ! 

With  reverent  look  and  downcast  tread  ye  soft 

The  porch  of  the  temple:  come,  and  enter  in! 

Hark  ye  the  bell  and  lay  ye  by  the  horn. 

Heed  well  the  wealth  of  marvel  o'er  your  heads; 

And,  sinking  here  in  prayer  with  me,  at  last 

Achieve,  renouncing;  teach,  if  teach  ye  will, 

By  fellowship.  Ah!  eating  of  the  bread 

Of  healing  sympathy,  learn  we  the  world! 


195 


GLADSTONE 

How  genuine,  Lord!  our  immaturity! 
With  what  conviction  is  our  life  begun 
And  final  purpose;  though  the  full  career 
Proves  no  conviction  final  and  our  end 
Yearning  but  onward!   If  the  life-span  stretch'd 
E'en  to  millennia,  not  the  scant  three-score 
And  seven  of  mine  hour  vouchsafed  by  Thee  — 
E'en  to  millennia,  yet  maturity 
Were  reach'd,  if  anywise  within  man's  reach,  < 
Not  as  a  wakening  from  a  dream  of  youth 
To  ripe  realities  then  first  achieved 
But,  mainly  as  a  gathering-up  of  years 
Past  and  of  prior  powers  effectual 
To  the  force  of  the  moment  and  the  purpose  of  it, 
Sans  prejudice  to  After  or  Before! 
Yea,  Lord !  how  otherwise  the  work  began 
In  earnest  conservation;  and  thereon 
How  earnest  ('neath  Thy  guidance)  the  reform, 
The  reconstruction  root  and  branch  with  hope 
Of  conservation  only  by  the  more 
Laying  the  axe  to  the  root  for  England's  weal ! 
And  yet  how  true  the  first  sincerity, 
196 


GLADSTONE 

How  genuine  the  early  agencies 
Each  at  the  need  of  the  day;  and  now  how  strong 
The  inward  urgence,  under  guidance  of  Thee, 
Toward  one  stroke  more  (inglorious  ease  postponed) 
Unlike  aught  hitherto  (save  Italy, 
My  propaganda  for  a  freedom  there, 
Yield  hint  of  a  beginning)  and  yet  impell'd 
Both  by  sincerity  of  ethic  need, 
The  thrill  of  a  duty  to  denounce  the  Turk 
In  his  unspeakable  atrocity, 
The  thrill  of  moral  need -which  ever  urged  me, 
Quick'ning  in  me  the  mood  of  veriest  youth; 
Whilst,  wise  by  retrospect  of  divers  causes 
Each  in  its  turn  mine  oriflamme,  no  longer 
Expecting  in  the  work  finality 
Nor  after-conservation  (England  lapsing 
Perchance  to  Ottoman  policy  anew, 
Though  wiselier  then  than  if  not  now  aroused) 
But  claiming  only  for  the  hourly  need 
The  fair,  the  fitting;  and  a  work-of-youth 
Brave  in  its  passing  consequence,  sincere 
In  proud-admitted  immaturity! 
Lord!  at  the  outset  of  a  championing 
(Well-nigh  unaided  in  a  grim  old-age) 

197 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Which  leads  no  man  knows  whither,  let  me  lead 
My  mind  in  solitude  within  this  church 
Of  Hawarden,  whithersoever  in  Thy  wisdom 
The  mind  of  man  may  wander  reverently! 

For,  lo!  we  leave  behind  us  not  a  youth 
Inane  nor  self-deluded.   For  our  youth 
(Whether  conservative,  ay,  or  radical  — 
And,  either  way,  there  were  good  reason  for  it !) 
In  all  that  makes  for  man-maturity 
(This  surety  that  no  wisdom  were  mature!) 
And  worthiness  unto  the  work  of  earth 
Lasts  on,  the  only  way  may  aught  last  on, 
In  the  consequence,  resurgence  of  our  power, 
By  virtue  of  life's  evolving  moral  need, 
Of  self-conviction;  if  with  ever  more 
Contrast  of  past  convictions  so  contained,  } 
Even  by  such  cumulation  thus  but  more 
With  genuineness  of  the  years-outlived 
And  prospect  of  a  real  accomplishment 
In  stimulation  of  a  further  purport 
Purposed,  equipp'd  and  arsenal'd.  —  The  singer 
Of  Troy  heroic,  though  to  these  our  times 
A  boy  in  glory  of  outburst,  glories  yet 
198 


GLADSTONE 

These  problems  of  our  boyhood's  overplus 
(These  councils  of  the  chiefs,  these  kindling  fires 
Of  nation-wide  uprising,  as  I  trust  - 
Spare  Troy  the  poison'd  parallel  of  Turk!): 
Sincerity  (and  with  vision  of  the  whole, 
A  sense  of  ethic  need  ennobling  man!) 
Streaming,  illuminating,  from  the  page 
I  oft  have  pored-on,  in  a  secular  mood, 
For  uplift  in  the  turmoil  and  the  labor 
With  splendor  of  application  to  our  times; 
Although  but  primitively  hand-to-hand 
The  contest,  crude  the  counsel  of  the  clans 
And  wanting  much  in  high  morality 
Their  elemental  gods.  Ah,  God,  Thy  Book 
Of  patriarchal,  mild  simplicities 
(Not  lacking,  too,  in  strenuous  interlude!) 
Were  loftier,  sith  inspired !  Yet  for  me  now 
(Who  want  a  youth,  not  three-score  years  and  seven, 
Wherewith  to  kindle  England!)  in  Thy  Homer 
Upwells  an  inspiration  verily 
Anent  the  moment !  For  the  youth  of  the  world 
(That  phrase,  Juventus  Mundi,  still  it  thrills  me!) 
Is  his  indeed.  And  of  the  youth  of  the  world 
That  which  was  loftiest,  the  incitement  of  it, 

199 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Ambition  for  achievement  in  the  best 
And  boon  of  brave  belief  must  bide  in  us, 
Respond  and  echo  from  the  brave-born  soul 
Of  modern  man,  who  (bearing  burdens  felt 
For  world-wide  in  our  policies,  for  fraught 
With  spirit-problems  sprung  of  the  history 
Of  thrice-millennium  since  Ajax'  hour) 
Evolves,  outlasts  the  earlier  spirit-pose 
Ever  to  new  conviction !  I  am  come 
(O  God,  the  splendid  pain  of  change  at  heart !) 
Through  many  an  alteration  of  my  judgment, 
Through  many  a  refutation  inmostly 
Of  confident  assurance.   But  remain 
Like  Homer  (like  Ulysses  of  the  bard 
Now  long  our  laureate)  unskeptic  still, 
Believing  in  Thy  truth  and  action  through  it  — 
Though  someway  the  conviction  may  not  rest 
But  by  its  very  operation  alters 
The  disposition  of  environment 
Which  gave  to  faith  vocation !  Ah,  may  not  faith 
(Under  Thy  prompting,  Lord,  if  it  may  be) 
With  incident  operation,  based  therein 
And  so  expressive  of  the  inmost  man, 
Itself  half-poet  wise  create  for  man 
200 


GLADSTONE 

Whether  for  others  also  or  oneself 
(Ay,  who  would  wait  to  find  majorities 
Before  conviction  and  a  founding  of  them?) 
The  fresh  truth-disposition;  and  be  faith 
Coincident  with  truth  from  hour  to  hour 
Alone  by  permanent  power  within  the  faith 
Through  function  to  establish  ever  further 
The  whelming  consequence  and  yearn  thereto? 
How  have  I,  with  this  Homer  in  my  veins, 
Strode  on  from  aim  to  aim,  from  youth-belief 
To  man-belief  and  man-belief  anew, 
Yet  ever  couraged  and  convinced  afresh 
Where  critics  well  have  carp'd  upon  the  change 
Crying  for  craven  act-consistency 
Where  ever  only  wax'd  consistency 
Of  consequence  and  growth  to  lead  men  on 
Unto  the  making  of  a  new  fact-form 
Whence  newer  needs  and  new  convictions  spring 
More  warrantable  mainly  than  the  old 
Because  by  will  to  truth  contributive! 
Ah,  had  I  been  the  charlatan  (perchance 
One  such  there  were  in  England's  councils  now 
Predominant,  imperative?),  sincere 
In  nought  than  shrewd  time-serving,  then  had  I 
201 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Deserved  the  censure,  where  from  moods  without 
Of  divers  men  and  things  alone  the  warrant 
Had  for  the  alter'd  action  e'er  accrued: 
No  faith  to  gripe  a  growth-congruity 
In  leading  ever  onward,  in  altering  all 
Of  truth-interpreted  to  fit  the  faith 
And  thereupon  in  operation  posing 
(Not  by  a  passive  self-subjection  'neath 
A  nature's  chance-selecting  but,  creative!) 
The  disposition  of  environment 
To  suit  the  new-born  purpose  as  it  may! 
How  false,  had  I  not  youth  and  Homer  in  me! 
How  sad,  were  faith  not,  in  these  things  of  earth, 
The  court  of  last  appeal;  and  poetry  — 
The  making-over  of  experience 
In  vision  of  a  virtue  not  (to  sense 
Immediate  and  to  chronicle)  its  own 
But  spirit-inward  —  with  efficiency 
The  type  of  man's  supreme  prerogative 
Of  founding  to  the  image  of  his  soul 
The  future  out  of  past  accumulation ! 
For,  with  mine  Homer  in  me,  youth  of  the  world 
Upwelling  though  I  grew  but  to  the  grave, 
Were  growth  not  merely  life's  compelling  rule 
202 


GLADSTONE 

(So  Darwin  in  his  simpler  cynicism) 

Enforced  in  blindness  on  reluctant  clay, 

But  life's  great  glory  of  a  poetry, 

A  demigodship  of  the  living  soul, 

An  high  Olympianism  of  the  man, 

A  proud  impulsion  spiritual  within, 

Whether  'mid  Senates  of  the  mightiest  realms 

Or  stilly  in  self-searching  privacy 

As  now  with  Thee,  O  Lord,  in  Hawarden  church: 

From  within  outward  to  make  all  things  new 

(By  conservation  of  the  older  things 

Their  leading  gradual,  self-development) 

And  doubt  not  —  more  than  need  be  for  our 

sight 

Imperfect  and  our  knowledge  half-at-fault, 
Our  reverence  for  the  practice-tested  past 
As  standard  of  a  truth  time-reconciled; 
And  basing  confidence  in  the  poet-soul, 
The  youth  which  visions  through  maturity 
An  immaturity,  an  innocence 
Of  unfulfill'd  adjustment  if  they  will, 
Which  needs  not  life-eternal  to  achieve, 
Nor  immemorial  monuments  to  prove 
A  presence  now  by  foresight  to  the  years 
203 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  work's  effect  though  all  our  works  are  found 
Imperfect  to  tomorrow's  artistry! 

O  God,  art  Thou  the  One  that  doth  not  change; 
And  yet  Thy  works  (as  immanent  in  man's, 
Evidenced  in  the  puppets  of  Thy  power) 
All,  all  at  change,  based  in  a  fact  of  faith 
Alone  which  changeth  not  through  every  hour? 
O  God,  art  Thou  then  Faith  and  only  Faith, 
This  warrant  of  earth-things  which  changeth  not, 
But  nought  beside  of  earthly  incidence? 
Or  rather  in  every  operation  changing 
Sofar  as  Thou  in  these  creation-acts 
CalPd  man's  art  ultimately  Poet-God: 
An  O'er-Olympian  ever  amid  men 
Concern'd  and  greatly  fighting  the  good  fight? 
Shall  men  pretend  that  any  Godliness 
Abides  our  question  (ay,  or  should  abide  — 
For,  lo !  no  coward  skepticism  here, 
No  cheap  agnosticism  waiving  creed !) 
Save  as  the  search  is  answer'd  hourly 
Just  in  the  youth,  the  reverent  conviction, 
The  faith-at-application  constantly, 
The  continuity  of  heart  sincere 
204 


GLADSTONE 

Which  men  may  labor  in  and  be  at  peace? 
Art  Thou  then  Youth  of  the  World;  Who,  opening  out 
Thy  self-unfolding  never  didst  enfold 
Until  the  unfolding  that  which  seems  to  hide 
Yet  hid  not;  Thine  all-immaturity 
Poetic  at  creation  evermore 
Genuine  in  the  making  of  Thyself? 
And  as  we  go  into  the  grave  dost  Thou 
As  we  have  known  Thee  also  truly  die 
Though  resurrection  be  Thy  youth-of-the-hour? 
These  very  questions  Thou  art  answering 
Not  every  hour  alike,  but  differingly 
If  alway  truly  to  each  differing  faith: 
Mine  own  in  this  brief  moment  of  communing 
Startling  the  depths  that  in  my  thought  of  Thee 
Had  hitherto  in  seeming  slept  unchanged, 
And  truly  slept  unchanged  till,  wakening  now, 
Their  very  wakening  stirreth,  through  the  past, 
A  power  at  work  within  them  dimly  there 
To  mould  a  world-foundation,  cast  a  faith 
Which  even  as  a  faith  hath  not  remain'd 
A  faith  in  faith-unchanging  nor  a  youth 
Of  aging  unaware!   For  deeds  of  youth 
Were  trick'd  with  a  purpose  haply  to  endure 
205 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

(Though  altering  the  hitherto-endured 
If  but  by  such  factitious  conservation!) 
Unalter'd  in  intention  whatsoe'er 
The  change  and  chance  which  might  ensue  thereon, 
But  now,  with  thanks  to  Thee  that  I  have  found 
An  organon  of  faith  pragmatical 
Enheartening  in  me  my  loneliness  — 
Yea,  now  I  recognize  the  righteousness 
Of  unguess'd  alterations;  and  desire 
Not  that  the  impact  of  the  hourly  blow 
Shall  echo  to  the  ages  my  mere  meaning, 
The  hope  for  the  Cause,  for  victory,  that  is  mine 
When  struggling  for  achievement  presently; 
But  all  be  fluid  (even  Thy  Church-and-State 
As  Turk  or  Balkan)  with  the  fact  of  faith 
In  the  retrocession:  fluid,  save  as  this  fulness  , 
Of  comprehension  of  a  temporal  scheme 
(Not  for  concealing  truth  but  for  revealing) ' 
Which  understands  and  holds  at  every  hour 
The  apprehended  vistas  infinite; 
Themselves,  as  apprehended  instantly, 
Not  subject  to  retraction,  to  holding-on 
Nor  ripe  anticipation;  and  thus  affording 
The  ultimate  truth-standard  though  at  each 
206 


GLADSTONE 

Infinite  instant  in  a  truth  and  faith 

Unique  unto  the  hourly  task  at  hand; 

Themselves  (in  proof  of  such  uniqueness  felt 

Of  him  who  labors)  rectifying  earth 

As  in  him  lies  by  power  of  such  a  youth  — 

The  vistas  apprehended  proving  him 

An  Homer,  biding  poetwise  despite 

The  crudity  discover'd,  the  vainglory 

(Yet  victory  still  were  truth's  prerequisite!) 

Of  combat  hand-to-hand  for  victory, 

The  spoliation,  or  the  wantonness 

Of  godhood  more  contemptible  than  man 

Because  more  capable  in  cruelty! 

Ah !  may  such  Youth  of  the  World  be  in  my  work, 

Lord,  as  Thine  inspiration  though  I  fail; 

Leading  this  England  on,  far  to  outstrip 

The  uttermost  reforms  of  this  mine  age: 

A  world-poetic  of  a  Poet-God 

Appreciating  as  it  proves  them  false 

These  old-age  ethnic  liberalities: 

As  it  turns  and  smiles  at  them;  and  feels  their  power! 


207 


BRAHMS 

O  BLEST  conservatism  of  human  minds; 
O  reverence  for  the  mighty  who  have  been 
And  who  by  splendor  of  the  truth  have  told 
A  satisfaction  everlastingly! 
O  spirit  of  classicism  in  our  souls 
And  admiration  of  the  proven  path:  *j 
Precluding  all  iconoclastic  zeal 
Within  me  as  I  set  me  to  my  song! 
What  peace,  what  pure  support  from  by-gone  powers 
Avow'd,  beyond  mine  hour's  prevision,  pour'd 
Over  and  through  this  fever  of  the  heart 
Which  starts  the  tone-blood  tingling  innerly! 
What  noblest  vistas  of  achievements  past 
Now  poised  above  the  onlook;  and  within  , 
The  very  music-flood  of  wave  and  wave, 
Of  throb  and  throb  of  this  so  passionate  voice, 
What  deep-reflective,  channell'd  imagery 
Ordering,  regulating,  holding  wise, 
Articulate  and  rhythmic-logical 
The  rhapsodies  of  elemental  mood ! 
No  loss  of  voice  direct;  with,  oh,  what  gain 
Of  mastery  in  the  tone-material, 

208 


BRAHMS 

In  context  of  the  screed  and  history 

Of  art's  own  growth  to  prove  the  truth  for  new: 

By  just  this  solemn  sense  of  splendid  Bach, 

Mozart  of  unimpeded  purity, 

Beethoven  glorious  for  a  canon  given, 

A  method  and  a  tried  maturity! 

How  other  than  the  wildness  of  romance 
Which  they  of  the  half-insanity  (untaught, 
As  't  were,  of  all  mistakes,  all  axioms  too, 
Known  to  the  humbler  scholar)  boldly  laud; 
Whom  instinct  only  guides  and  draweth  on, 
Whom  hatred  of  the  past  alone  impels 
And  crude  contempt  for  masterhoods  achieved  - 
Blind  leading!  Ah,  how  otherwise  than  theirs  j 
This  music  that  is  in  me:  and  yet  mine  own, , 
Mine  verily;  as  theirs  may  never  be 
Personal,  wrought  of  fraught  experience 
Of  world  and  man  from  boyhood  upward  still 
(Witness  our  folk-song  ever  unforgot !) 
In  wide-eyed  understanding  of  the  moods 
Of  men,  acceptance  of  the  fact  of  fate  • 
And  sympathy  with  cosmic  issuings! 
Ah,  so;  for  surely  spiritual  more 
209 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Than  instinct  is  the  sage  insistency 
Of  serious  appreciation  basing 
The  onward  step  of  apprehending  soul ! 
(Forgive,  O  Muse,  the  seeming  boastf ulness ! 
'T  is  founded  in  an  artist-piety 
And  reverent  self-subjection  as  I  toil !)  — 
The  self-control,  so,  as  the  labor-pains 
Of  fervent  parturition  wax  and  wreak 
Their  will  upon  the  works  of  destiny! 
No  mad,  luxurious  plaint  at  agonies 
(To  chaos  fusing  all  resistent  lore 
Of  logic-distance,  cyclic  hierarchy!) 
Too  poignant  nor  within  their  poignancy 
Too  sweet;  but  something  spirit-solemnizing 
In  large  restraint  (retaining  inferences 
Multiform,  order'd  to  the  farthest  spheres), 
In  large  restraint  remembering  well  the  wonder 
Of  myriad  births  before  in  minds  and  hearts 
Of  human  melodists  triumphantly. 
O  blessed  sequence  in  the  story  aye 
Of  every  fresh-creative  immanence 
Inherent  to  it  as  a  dignity 
Of  self-containment,  be  they  ne'er  so  new 
These  figures  of  the  present  utterance! 
210 


BRAHMS 

The  deep  sustainment  of  the  searching-back 
(Though  mind  fore-reach  an  own  eternity!) 
Unto  the  uppermost  and  inwardmost 
Endoming  concave  of  the  storehouse-brain, 
The  overarching  heaven  of  memories! 
What  self-protection  in  the  presence  here 
Imaginary  of  the  master-six 
Who  shadowy  o'er  my  shoulder  lean  and  write 
If  with  my  pen  yet  well-nigh  warningly 
The  sequence-scripture  as  it  ought  to  be! 
So  Beethoven,  so  Bach  and  Handel  might 
(Nay,  Mozart,  Haydn  or  Schumann,  as  you  will!) 
Have  juxtaposed  such  contrapuntal  schemes, 
Such  themes  melodic  and  such  rhythmus-plans 
With  such-like  harmonies.    If  that  they  did  not 
(Yea,  if  they  could  not,  would  not  strictly  thus  — 
A  sense  convinceth,  these  are  mine  alone 
Because  sincerely  of  my  cultured  heart!), 
If  that  they  did  not,  fairly  may  it  seem 
'T  were  but  men's  limitation  of  life-span, 
Their  absolute  position  there  and  then 
(Which  I,  in  loving  them,  well-nigh  re-learn!) 
Which  could  preclude  our  common  faith  and  form. 
An  they  had  dwelt  in  the  chamber  here  to-day 

21  I 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Their  work  had  been  mine  own;  or  not  unlike 
(Were  they  in  youth  and  vigor)  these  my  tones! 
And  they  in  me  are  vocal:  not  myself 
All-unregardful,  but,  myself  well-versed 
And  learning-influenced,  a  self  the  more 
Motived  by  such  compliance,  more  myself 
As  they  by  me  more  musick'd  —  that  a  world 
Well-versed  in  Beethoven's,  in  Handel's  song 
May  understand  and  heartfully  receive 
The  utterance  of  the  masters  from  mine  hand, 
While  generously  acclaiming  works  of  me! 
What  service  thus  to  keep  alive  the  light 
(Adding  to  truth  though  scarce  displacing  it) 
Of  former  uttermost  achievements,  now 
(Where  risk  might  be  of  practice-desuetude) 
Revivified  because  of  utterance 
Fresh,  new-impassion'd  and  with  wisdoms  of 
A  later  world  of  men's  veracity, 
Lest  technic  (question  trivial  to  the  soul 
O'  troth)  seem  stale  or  scarce  sophisticate! 
What  service  and  what  privilege  of  mine 
(And  classicism  feeds  humility!) 
To  enter  in  and  take  traditional 
The  virtue  of  the  earlier  music-truth, 
212 


i  BRAHMS 

The  absolute  function  of  the  torchbearer  , 

Who,  for  his  strong  half-century  of  toil, 

Paceth  forever  in  processional 

Of  music's  institution!   For  my  heart 

Is  Bach,  is  Beethoven  and  Handel  too, 

Haply  if  but  thereby  in  verity 

O'er  all  mine  own!  And  I,  in  uttering 

The  great  tradition  unto  acceptation 

Of  scholar-culture,  am  but  vitalwise 

Original,  an  idiosyncrasy 

Of  innermost  romanticism  instinct 

Because  thus  native  to  the  truth-control!  ' 

Hark,  ye !  who  vainly  after  gods  unknown 
Are  wideliest  erring  from  the  strict  ascent! 
Hark  deep;  and  search  if  so,  by  shutting  soul 
From  memory's  sustainment  and  the  power, 
In  terms  of  absolute  tone-experience, 
Sprung  of  the  reverence  of  self-restraint 
Within  the  idiom  of  a  music-mood, 
Ye  have  not  emptied  from  the  heaven's  concave 
The  content  of  your  tone-philosophies; 
And,  forcing  music  as  a  concept-speech 
To  tasks  best  suited  of  a  sister-art, 
213 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

Yet  welter  in  your  aether  as  a  void: 

A  music-void,  whate'er  your  utterance 

Of  program  and  of  picture  openly? 

Ye,  lifting  no  torch;  but  (half-articulant 

In  terms  of  absolute  music-idiom  yet) 

Cut-off  as  by  a  bedlam  from  the  world, 

Disabled  by  the  doctrine  of  your  dream: 

All-vision,  ay,  but  nought  of  firmament 

Unless,  through  inference  of  speech  and  scene, 

A  firmament  of  earth  too  earthlily. 

And,  if  ye  be  unskilful  to  sustain 

Yourselves  of  the  aether  as  an  Icarus 

And  fear  that  earth-fall  from  the  music-void 

(The  antique  figure  he  of  such  romance 

Which  makes  a  void  where  art-void  none  had  been!), 

Spurn  not  what  learning  stirs,  if  yet  half-womb'd, 

Plume-budding,  I  swear  ye,  from  the  spirit  of  each 

(In  memories  of  a  youth-hour,  childhood-years: 

The  happy  school  of  folk-song  unforgot) 

And  reverence  —  these,  for  wings  which  fervors  melt 

not; 

That  loftily  ye  wreak,  ere  life  be  done, 
The  music-destiny  as  in  me  now! 
Hark  to  the  reminiscence,  echoing 

214 


BRAHMS 

The  structure  of  the  master,  him  who  built 
In  centuries  of  contrapuntal  toil 
An  heritage,  which,  'neath  the  winds  of  fate, 
Yea,  as  the  gathering  backward  of  the  wave 
With  lifted  image  of  the  hills  and  skies, 
Forward  and  forward  ever  bursts  beyond! 


215 


NIETZSCHE 

IF  by  their  fruits  (to  quote  the  hated  creed) 

Shall  men  be  known,  ah,  by  what  bitter  fruit 

Unto  the  weaker  peoples  of  the  earth 

Shall  I,  the  neglected  and  despised  to-day  — 

Shall  I,  in  saner  hours  the  mild  and  kind  — 

Shall  I  be  known  and  my  mad  name  accursed! 

Lo!  by  what  rumors  of  approaching  wars 

Awful,  o'erwhelming  when  the  mightier  hosts 

Of  Teuton  like  to  locusts  o'er  the  earth 

(Our  treaties  torn  and  our  most  solemn  oaths 

Forsworn  —  for  what  were  'faith  toward  heretics'?) 

Sweep  down  and  on  and  over,  leaving  there 

But  fields  burnt  black  and  homes  in  smouldering 

heaps: 

And  everywhere  the  overhuman  cult 
(In  cross  of  iron  rigor-emblemized) 
Crushing  and  crucifying;  that  the  maim'd 
And  halt  and  blind  alone  survive  the  stroke 
Of  latest  Hun  and  Vandal  slaughtering  them! 
Ha!  Where  the  far-famed  temples  of  their  creed? 
Tottering,  yea,  tower  on  tower;  the  fallen  naves 
Bloody  beneath  with  crush'd-out  brains  of  men, 

216 


NIETZSCHE 

Of  women  and  of  children  whom  a  dogma 

Senile  and  tottering  drove  in  idol-hope 

To  prayer;  and  whom  mine  hope-of-overman 

Hath  stew'd  and  charnell'd  on  the  altar-floor.  — 

Great  wrath  of  glorious  Germans!  once  aroused, 

Mine  ultimate  aristocrats  of  earth 

(How  I  mistook  ye  in  the  earlier  days!), 

To  absolute  ruthlessness:  how  shall  the  shrieks 

Of  Belgian  (shook  from  superstition's  trance), 

Of  Gaul  (no  Emperor  to  urge  them  now, 

Nor  culture  comparable  to  our  own!), 

Of  Gaul  and  Briton  wild  with  streaming  hair 

Howl  to  their  helpless  heaven's  all-vacantness: 

Their  heavens  empty;  and  no  power  to  save 

Equal  at  all  to  man's,  to  overman 

His  power  to  dismay  and  doom  the  world! 

Muscle  and  sinew,  steel  and  my  fierce  hate 
Which  fills  the  heavens  of  Frank  and  Angle,  ay, 
Low-spirited  curs  of  quack  democracy, 
With  soaring  shells  and  shower  of  molten  death, 
With  flare  and  thunder  and  the  nations'  end! 
Not  one  shall  live  to  tell  the  fearful  tale 
Where  tongues  from  the  roots  are  torn;  not  one  awake 

217 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

To  flash  the  accusing  eye,  where  eyes  are  ripp'd 
From  socket;  not  one  hand  remain  to  write 
The  desolate  condemnation:  for  their  hands 
Are  flung  in  the  reeking  ditch  and  only  stumps  'i 
Of  anguish'd  arms  implore  where  peace  is  none! 
So  shall  they  wreak  who  take  of  me  the  truth;  , 
So  shall  they  slay:  because  am  I  divine! 
If  'by  our  fruits':  these  are  the  fruits  of  me! 

What  sayest  thou,  Christ?   Have  I  not  crown'd  thee 

now 

With  sharper  than  the  thorns  of  ancientry? 
Yea,  how  I  scorn  the  silly  sacrifice, 
The  brutish  sufferance  of  the  underman, 
The  underdog  in  the  world  whereof  wert  thou 
The  crucified  arch-type:  imposed  at  last 
On  hated  strangers;  but  from  German  hearts 
(As  in  arch-type  mine  own)  now  blotted  out 
In  triumph  of  a  fitness  to  survive 
Beyond  all  good  and  ill,  all  counter-rights  ; 
Of  any  than  the  chosen  ego-few  — 
Thy  stupid  pitifulness,  Christ,  crush'd  down 
And  trampled  in  the  blooded,  ashen  mud 
Never  to  lift  again  out  of  the  grave! 

218 


NIETZSCHE 

Ah !  well-nigh  with  the  froth  of  some  wild-beast 

At  ravening  rape  upon  the  body  of  earth 

I  rant;  and  curse,  O  Jew,  the  Cross  and  thee!  - 

Nay,  lift  not,  Jew!  that  darkening  scowl  at  mine! 
Nay,  strike  not  with  that  sudden,  angry  arm, 
Of  recent  centuries,  unused  and  weak! 
Art  thou,  too,  cured  of  love;  and  with  wan  hate 
A  spectre  stalking  from  the  sepulchre 
By  soaking  wounds  of  men  revived  and  hurl'd 
(Thou  wast  not  always  otherwise  than  I !) 
Worldward  anew,  a  spirit  of  ruthlessness? 
Art  thou,  then,  arm'd  against  me,  to  strike  down 
(In  irony  I  mock  thine  impotence!) 
The  hand  of  my  defence  and  hew  it  off 
The  reeking  stump  which  powerless  hangs  apart 
(In  sport  I  picture  it  to  frenzy  thee) 
A  dripping  spectacle?  And  wouldst  thou  take 
My  tongue  and  tear  it?  Wouldst  thou  pluck  mine  eyes 
Green  from  their  nerve-roots?  Nay,  be  merciful, 
Have  pity,  I  implore  thee  mockingwise! 
Yet  someway  I  would  see  thee  as  thou  hast  been 
(Yea,  mainly,  and  when  of  heresies  unplagued) 
Not  as  in  this  delirium  teasingly 

219 


;  POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

I  take  thee  for  an  Anti-Christ !  For  thou 
Wast  my  great  spoil  and  conquest,  yielding  me 
An  universe  wherethrough  mine  egohood 
(Thine,  too,  could  persecute:  ay,  that  I  yield  thee!) 
Savage  and  splendid  might  achieve  her  end. 
And  if  thou,  too,  enlarging  on  the  old, 
Cruel  hint  that  comes  to  competence  in  me; 
Yea,  if  thou,  too,  shouldst  prove  an  over-hand, 
An  over-sword  to  smite  and  torch  to  burn, 
Where,  Lord,  for  thee  or  me  alike  would  lie 
A  world  to  spurn  and  desolate?   I  prithee, 
Down,  down  into  the  grave  again  and  rot, 
Peaceful  beneath  the  sod  blood-saturate; 
And  leave  this  world  to  super-savagery 
Set-off  and  gloried  by  thy  crown  of  thorn! 
I  crave  thee,  Lord!  —  Nay,  nay,  I  know  the  cant: 
How  Gottlieb  Fichte,  rousing  us  to  war, 
Yet  dream'd  unto  our  Christianity 
An  human  oversoul,  self-unity 
The  same  in  each  and  every  man  of  earth 
(As  though  our  sun-space  were  as  cramp'd  as  thine) 
And  held  us  back  thereby  from  license  (ha ! 
No  Gottlieb  staid  the  conquest  latterly  — 
Strange,  strange,  I  could  have  wished  it  less  entire!  — 

220 


NIETZSCHE 

Along  our  Rhine  and  after  great  Sedan!); 

Who  held  us  back  in  altruism  whilst  then  \ 

Our  tribe  gain'd  freedom  from  the  despot  Gaul! 

I  know  how  now  my  cult  of  superman 

In  hearts  too  tender  toward  hypocrisy 

Allows  to  each  and  every  man  of  earth 

The  potency  of  private  super-will 

And  therefore  fain  were  Christian  in  respect 

For  every  high  ambition  as  mine  own, 

To  spare  the  weaker  peoples  from  dismay: 

Thy  cant  of  'neighbor  even  as  thyself! 

But  I,  O  Jew,  prefer  and  choose  the  test 

(Now  that  the  Vision  breaks  the  Reason  down!), 

The  truth,  of  independence;  in  my  power 

Of  absolute  purpose  with  the  right  of  might, 

The  might  beyond  stale  question  ethical, 

To  combat;  yea,  O  Lord  (though  even  thou, 

Forced  by  my  fight  to  curse  thy  cant's-own  creed, 

Rise  up  in  arms  and  hew  my  body  down  — 

Indeed,  indeed,  thy  strength  grows  wonder-keen!), 

To  struggle  and  oppose  and  hate  and  hew 

The  body  of  my  neighbor,  whilst  mine  own 

I  fearlessly  expose  to  the  flaming  sword  — 

A  mutual  dependence  of  the  strife 

221 


POEMS  OF  PERSONALITY 

In  both  alike  if  still  the  cant  thou  era  vest: 
Believing  in  the  combat,  not  in  peace 
Save  by  oppression  and  the  crushing  down !  — 
Thou  wilt  not  back  to  the  grave?    Thou  wilt  not 

down? 

Come,  then,  strike  hard,  thou  Christ !  and  let  me  see, 
Whate'er  the  issue,  my  creed  conquering: 
Not  thine,  by  any  possibility; 
A  world  unchristianized  in  meeting  so 
Arbitrament  of  war,  of  stroke  to  stroke 
Determining  survival  —  ah,  no  more 
World-love  hypocrisies  but,  by  thy  force, 
My  victory!  Though  the  Fatherland  should  fall 
And  I,  the  neglected  and  despised  of  eld, 
I,  yea,  be  trampled  'neath  thy  cloven  heel, 
Thy  nature  stands  corrupted  by  mine  own ! 
Thy  nature  stands  ennobled  by  mine  own! 
Ay,  though  I  die,  I  leave  thee  in  the  deed 
An  Anti-Christ,  mine  image:  ruthlessly!  — 

If  'by  their  fruits':  this  last  and  best  is  fruit; 
That  Christ  must  meet  me  in  the  over-doom ! 
And  so,  how  nobly  mine  and  mine  alone 
The  militant  high  compulsion!   Mine  the  name 

222 


NIETZSCHE 

Dread  with  the  rumor  of  approaching  wars 
Awful,  o'er-whelming;  mine  the  ruin-ash 
Choked  up  with  charnell'd  corpses  and  the  arms 
Uprear'd  in  the  dripping  ditch  where  peace  is  none! 
Mine,  mine  the  glory:  glorious,  ruthlessly! 


223 


ROYCE 

THE  duty  of  a  loyalty  to  truth 
Compels  that  truth  be  spoken,  whatsoe'er 
The  function  of  a  civic  violence 
(Our  nation,  ceasing  parley  with  the  foes 
Of  man,  thrice-arm'd  against  a  pirate  crew) 
Must  utterance  provoke!   For  violently 
Have  falsehood  and  dishonor  long  laid  hold 
With  horrible  outrage  on  the  stricken  land 
Which,  calm  and  unoffending  in  the  sun, 
Barr'd  but  the  barbarous  path  of  savagery 
From  plotted  spoliations:  that,  itself 
Made  victim  to  the  fangs  of  the  foil'd  beast, 
A  Belgium  bleeds.  The  appointed  guardian  turns 
To  desolator;  and  the  ravishment, 
All-unprevented  though  the  half-world  fight, 
Persists  in  still-increasing  agony; 
Whilst  we  unmoved,  unmoving  stand  apart 
And  with  a  scared,  sleek  courtesy  disclaim 
Occasion  for  a  judgment :  right  or  wrong, 
Scarce  for  a  neutral  wisdom  to  pronounce! 
O  coward  heart !  O  curst  disloyalty 
To  our  firm  freedom  of  an  upright  past; 
224 


ROYCE 

Lost  honor-ideal  of  democracy; 

Neglected  faith  of  a  people  heretofore 

Fair  to  the  weak,  downtrodden,  fearing  nought 

Of  overbearingness  and  tyrant-power! 

O  hated  policy,  which  ties  the  tongue 

And  folds  the  hands  with  futile  prayer  for  peace: 

When,  of  all  human  chronicle,  the  worst 

Outrage  upon  the  holy  spirit  of  man 

(Fiendly  prepared  and  fiendly  screen'd  by  lies) 

Now  wantons,  riots  without  let  or  check 

To-day,  to-morrow  at  our  ocean-door 

And  all-precludes  peace'  possibility 

(For  us,  as  for  our  fathers  otherwhile) 

Unless  within  us  be  the  conscience  dead, 

The  spirit  sodden,  rotted  to  the  core! 

My  friends,  here  gather'd  together  to  attest 
Your  detestation  of  the  Teuton  crime!  - 
My  friends,  there  is  a  progress  of  the  spirit, 
A  process  wherein  the  soul  achieves  herself 
In  virtue  of  a  loved  community 
With  other-souls  of  mutual  respect; 
An  involution  of  the  conscience-care 
(Not  for  the  narrower  aims  of  merely  me!) 
225 


POEMS  OF   PERSONALITY 

Toward  ever  more  and  more  the  whole  wide  world 
Of  human  hopes,  of  human  purposes 
Appreciated  to  fulfilment  through 
The  consummations  of  a  social  good 
Contributed  in  every  deed  and  dream, 
Each  thought  and  striving  of  the  least  of  us. 
And  we,  the  least  of  us,  wax  holiest 
Best  by  the  world-inclusion,  the  concluding 
Of  every  evil  in  the  cosmic  course 
Consciously  toward  a  bettering  —  not,  by  blinding 
The  eyes  of  the  heart,  the  ears  and  tongue  tight- 
sealing 

Where  uttermost  appeal  claims  of  the  soul ! 
And  we  must  choose  the  part  of  heedless  sleep, 
Else  of  the  high  and  strenuous  works  of  love! 
Today,  tomorrow  is  the  call  of  love: 
Not  as  in  sanctimonious  lethargy 
Of  waiting  a  millennium  but,  by  dint 
Of  love's  best  blow,  to  bear  the  brutal  down, 
To  fight  the  good  fight  where  the  fight  hath  join'd 
Before  our  feet  with  horrid  spectacle 
Of  nations  ravish'd  and  the  spoiler  strong! 
The  spoiler:  heeds  he  the  precluded  hopes 
(Harmless  and  high  in  homely  dignity) 

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ROYCE 

Of  them  he  sacrifices,  stands  he  forth 

With  the  cosmic  onmarch  of  expanding  insight, 

The  world-redeeming  spirit?  Or  must  the  fiend, 

Even  for  the  glory  of  the  greater  peace, 

Be  beaten  down  and  caged  and  tamed;  to  learn 

The  meaning  of  the  earth-motive?  —  Oh,  we  stand 

Now  at  the  parting  of  the  nation's  ways: 

The  peace  supine,  the  plausible  partnership 

In  the  huge  injustice  mask'd  with  guise  of  a  mind 

Open  and  judgment  poised  to  wise  suspense 

(So  rectifying  nothing,  opening  so 

Nought  of  a  nobler  future!);  or  at  last 

With  burst  of  awful,  pent-up  sympathies 

The  mighty  voice,  the  arm  yet  young  to  prove 

By  militant  consecration  wrong-compell'd 

The  strength  of  a  right  cause  —  America 

Recorded  in  resistance:  that,  perchance 

(All  parley  with  the  perjured  being  cut-off) 

At  any  sacrifice  of  common  ease, 

At  any  cost  in  holy  violence, 

Truth-faith  and  honor  and  the  loyalty 

Which  saveth  with  a  savor  shall  not  pass! 


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U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRAR 


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